


Of Fire and Fury

by Kiah_Trickster



Series: Fire and Blood [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 83,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21577591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiah_Trickster/pseuds/Kiah_Trickster
Summary: Sequel to Of Power and Blood, Daenerys Targaryen has installed herself upon the Iron Throne but her work has just begun. For not all of Westeros supports the reforms she has decreed; however the fire of her heart is not to be easily refused and she has a capable hand wholly invested in seeing her vision brought to life.Trapped in the grip of winter, Westeros must decide whether to rely upon their new Queen and the protection she promises or rebel and face the army that fights for her; that chooses her. But the cold winds bring new threats, and questions that must be answered; the battle for Winterfell not long forgotten. And the true purposes of the White Walkers still a mystery.
Relationships: Grey Worm/Missandei, Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Fire and Blood [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553287
Comments: 39
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story will not make much sense unless you have read the first story.

It is not easy to convince a nation to change its ways, men do not give up what they know nor cast aside beliefs that have been handed down for generations easily; but that was Daenerys dream for Westeros. And that was what she asked, so that was what Jorah threw his energy into, beginning on Dragonstone and in King's Landing; removing the first few spokes of the wheel. 

As each moon passed the city around them changed as did his wife's body and Jorah listened closely to the whispers that raced through the city. The whole of Westeros knew their Queen was with child and that she had plans for this continent. Plans that the great houses feared, and an army they were hesitant to face. 

The lands of the Reach, now ruled by House Tarly had been divided, families that lived there remained but the plains once belonging to the Tyrells were now home to the Dothraki horde with fresh tall grass for the horses and High Tower was the Unsullied garrison, men took turns rotating from guard duties in the capital to spend their off time in the fields of the Reach, aiding Sam in maintaining And farming the richest lands of Westeros. 

Few of the nobles were pleased about that, but the most powerful families were aligned with the Queen, relying upon her in one way or another; Jorah worked to ensure they stayed that way. Urging her to slow her plans for the kingdoms, to focus on one task at a time and allowing him to track who voiced dissent. 

In King's Landing the soup kitchens had not fixed the problems, nor had finding work for the men; none could force them to spend their wages on their families and not the taverns or go home instead of drinking until they were passed out in the streets or fighting mad. Nor could any afford the homes where the squatted, run down and filthy.

It was through one of those homes that he shadowed his wife, only the first of many blocks; he saw the frustration in her face. They had brokered a deal with Jamie Lannister, his empty gold mines were to become quarries, already cut stone flowed into the capitol but work was slowed as the Unsullied had to route people from the crumbling buildings each morning, only to have them return by nightfall.

“Can any afford these homes?” They were far from the high streets where the nobles and wealthy had their homes. Work crews had just finished turning the ruined Sept of Baylor into a public square with a well with several handles to draw up water and properly fixing the streets and gutters.

“No, and if the middle class can convinced to buy them thousands will be displaced.” He spoke plainly, in truth he was eager to get her back to the Red Keep and ideally her bed; Daenerys energy dwindled as their child grew. 

But she would not be kept from her duties, and though she turned many things over to him she did not intend to be oblivious to the plans they made. This was the next phase of restorations she had ordered, it was this work that would keep the men of King's Landing working and earning an income for the next several moons. 

“What about apartments? One room for couples and two for families, each could house more people and we will assign them based on the census.” She asked, stepping back quickly and before he could deal with the rat that slithered across in front of them an Unsullied soldier kicked it away, Jorah steadied his wife. 

“We will have plans drawn up.” He promised, rubbing the small of her back where he knew it bothered her.

As she nodded they turned towards the doorway and fresh air once more; it would take months, if not years to establish the standard of living she wanted for the small folk; even longer in the outlying areas of the seven kingdoms where he knew landowners would challenge them. But as he helped her up into the carriage he knew she would become fiercer when their child came; the babe was a motivator for them both.

“I think I will lay down.” She murmured when he climbed in beside her, rapping sharply on the door to get them going. “Your son kicks incessantly, I fear what he will do when he discovers it is far easier to move outside of me.”

“You are sure it is a boy?” He teased lightly, it was her who was tempered and hot blooded; he wondered if it would not be a girl meant to conquer men and dragons alike.

“We should know soon.” His wife murmured, rubbing her side a moment; the midwives said she had a little longer but he knew she was uncomfortable and impatient to meet the child.

When he returned her to their chamber, tucking her into bed with the dragon egg cradled to her chest Jorah went down to hear the afternoon's petitions. Daenerys had sat the throne for a few hours this morning, but he’d ordered the Unsullied to keep the bulk of them for him; she pushed herself too hard. Yes she had an obligation to hear her people, but he had a greater obligation to her; and getting her some rest was a part of that.

The first were minor disputes, one man claimed he had been unfairly banned from a particular work crew and another that his ration was not enough; the first had fought with the foreman and the second wasted his income on the alehouses; neither were pleased with his judgements. 

But then a young woman came in, a babe on one hip and a toddler tugging at her hand, she tried to kneel but he waved it off. This woman had a true petition, her husband was a drunk and with two young children she could not work herself for she had no kin to watch over them; she needed a way to provide for her children. 

And Jorah winced, trying to think of a way to help her, he could not begin issuing more allowances for then their court would be flooded with claims true and false. At his side Missandei cleared her throat. “There are others in her position, perhaps she could work at the soup kitchens, there older children often watch the younger while the women cook and serve the meal.”

“I can cook.” The woman volunteered eagerly.

“If there are others in your position we do not need another cook as much as someone to tend the children. Can a room be found in the building or nearby where the children could be congregated?” He knew in the various kitchens space was limited; But they only had to start with one. 

They might not entirely break the cycle of poverty, there would be some who never wanted to work to provide for themselves; but any who did needed the opportunity. And women with little ones could be the most vulnerable, for it seemed the ale houses and wine sinks always had a trade.

....

She did not sleep, but only curled onto her side, holding the charred dragon's egg close, while it became warm and trembled her child rested; as though soothed by its touch. As Drogon was hers this egg was meant for her babe; the two were already bonded. And Daenerys was eager to meet them both.

However she was not sure the intended arrival was as eagerly awaiting in all parts of Westeros, while the North, and the Riverlands were gladly hers, many lesser lords and southerners would not be pleased to see her house grounded with a child; Targaryen succession secured. The only reason they hadn’t had too many issues was the army loyal to her that lived in the Reach and patrolled the streets of Kings Landing. 

There were complaints filtering in from various parts of the south telling tales of small folk starving in winter towns as the Lord’s hoarded food supplies, expecting a long and brutal winter. Her decree was for resources to be traded, in the years since Dragon's Bay had been liberated from slavery trade with slave cities had dropped off; increasing their trade with Westeros was good for both nations. Distributing it was the problem, while Sansa had efficiently set up supply lines spanning the largest kingdom, bringing ships to White harbor and Bear Island to serve the small and remote communities it was the Lord’s of the more densely populated south she struggled with.

In a few areas she had control and while there was much still to be done progress could always seen. The small folk of Kings Landing were not skin and bone, starving in the streets and none cowered when the dragons soared overhead. On Dragonstone the quarries were in operation and there was work for all who were willing, Smith’s we learning the art of weapon making in Dragon glass; making the weapons they had used in the war look crude and clumsy. 

One of the best pieces had been made by Lord Baratheon, had been a gift to her husband, before the smith began dealing with his own lesser lords uprising; skeptical of a bastard being legitimized. Jorah had marched their army to the Stormlands and the sight of the standing army had been enough to quell it; things in Westeros had changed. Those who supported her could expect her strength to ride out for them; and the Dothraki liked to ride.

It had put down the unrest but it had not silenced the highborn whispers, or made them keep her decrees and Daenerys had noticed. The small folk were taking hold of her reign, and her orders, and though some were journeying to the capitol to ask for her help, and she knew there were thousands more unable to make the journey; as of yet she was not sure how to fix that. While the wardens she had appointed could be trusted, they did not fully see her vision for it wasn't theirs; and many were dealing with older craftier banner men who had their own agendas.

Daenerys roamed towards the throne room, knowing her husband would still be there, only pausing as she noticed her children soaring over the sea. Beautiful in flight and still growing, even at a distance Daenerys could tell them apart as they fished. 

Except after a moment she realized they weren’t fishing but swooping about a ship coming into the bay. With a sigh she glanced to Missandei who shadowed her, and still slim was capable of moving far quicker. “Have the guard’s slaughter some sheep, and find out what banners that ship flies.”

With a nod her friend was gone, having dragons living so close to a city of people was difficult at times. Thankfully the dragons liked the cliffs for their lairs and fished for most meals, but intelligent and curious they could create chaos. It had taken the people of the city time to get used to them flying over to the Red Keep where they perched upon the walls or in the courtyard and waited for her; screeching their displeasure if disturbed by gawkers or foolish feats.

The smell of fresh lamb would bring them to the courtyard, and hopefully the sailors could be calmed; she had seen no fire so they should be unharmed. Daenerys watched until the dragons turned towards land and then continued down the stairs and stepped out into the cold gray day, a thin layer of snow coated the city but farther north it was reported that snow was already waist deep; even the Reach had a thin spattering. 

Her husband and many others said it was typical of a winter after such a long summer, but with the war at the turn of the season Daenerys was still worried. The cold had been deadly here so she knew the effects would be felt throughout Westeros and today it felt like more snow might come.


	2. Chapter 2

His guards, the pair his wife insisted upon informed him that she was in the yard and they had a Northern ship entering the harbor. He’d selected two Dothraki who were a little more lenient than the Unsullied he knew Daenerys would have assigned to him. The men were used to the blood rider custom, expecting that he could fight for himself and so they stayed with him but did not hover too close and often served other positions; such as listening to what was going on around the palace.

While the Northern ship was surprising, he was not overly concerned, they had an Unsullied unit garrisoned on Bear Island now to aid in the delivery of supplies. In the yard it was easy to spot his wife, tiny next to Drogon’s huge snout, the dragon sensed when to be gentle with her. And he knew she missed riding, soaring into the air with the great creature below her.

As he glanced up to the sky the first fat flakes of snow fell, he’d grown up under such skies and spoke quietly to his guards. “Ring the bells and warn the shelters to prepare.”

A storm was blowing in and by the drop in temperature from only a few hours ago he suspected it would be fierce; worse for the Southerners still unused to such snow. His wife included, he saw the slight shiver in her shoulders as snow filtered down, Jorah crossed to her and lay his own cloak about her shoulders, she was hot blooded like her dragons.

She pulled the thick furs about her, over her swollen belly where their babe grew; his own hand eased along her side; feeling the powerful little kick that tracked his touch. “It's getting cold fast.”

“It's going to storm, come in where it is warm. We will have a messenger tell us when the Northern ship makes harbor.” Her time was coming, and he saw the relief cross her face as he rubbed her back; she didn’t need to be out in this weather.

He drew her in and coaxed her to a spot in their sitting room as the wind began to howl outside, it was Missandei who brought the news that Jon Stark was here and needed to speak with them; his wife's friend was already making efficient arrangements for the men who sailed with the Warden of the North.

That Daenerys was trying to pull her from that as he went down to meet the Lord of Winterfell was something the woman took in stride. Jorah took the stairs quickly and found the Northerner greeting his friend from the wall; Sam Tarly spent a great deal of time at court now with his own young family.

“Your Grace.” Jon dipped his head as Jorah crossed the corridor. “I wish it was better news that brought me South, but I couldn’t help but remember your own father's struggle to tell the capital of what we faced and so I thought I should come myself.”

“Of course.” And in winter the young man had been wise to sail, rough water was easier to bear than snow so deep horses struggled forward. “But you can tell us over the evening meal. No one is travelling in the storm.”

“You use the bells to warn of the storm?” Jon questioned.

“The South doesn’t remember a winter like this one, folks don’t know what to do when the snows come fast.” In the North they often had summer snows, folks knew how to hunker down and hold on when winter came; down here nearly a hundred people had died of exposure or fevers after their first true storm.

“It hit us several weeks ago and hasn’t let up, but I’ve been getting strange reports from the wall. The free folk live in the castles, they are reporting strange sights at night; deep in the forests they've seen fires with ice blue flame; and a few men hunting have disappeared.” Jon told him quickly, the urgency of the message in his voice.

“It isn't over then.” Sam murmured, looking between them uneasily.

Jorah was silent, the stories of the creatures that lived beyond the wall has survived thousands of years after the first Long Night; there had to be a reason for it. The war of the dead had been their answer, but like those before them perhaps there was reason to remember and remain cautious. There were still many things about the magic of the land they did not know.

His mind slid to his father and what had happened to him, killed by his own men beyond the wall trying to understand what was happening. The Lands of Always Winter were mysterious and powerful, but they knew very little about them in truth. Separated by the wall for generations men did not truly know all that lived beyond the wall, that fact drilled home in the great war.

“It makes sense you know, Gilly said Craster had nearly fifty sons; but we never saw young White Walkers. They must still be up there somewhere; I mean the white Walkers were defeated once before and disappeared, but they weren’t truly gone.” Sam explained, shifting uneasily, he saw the look pass between the two young men. “You don’t think it has something to do with the Fist of the First men?”

They had been on the wall years before the war that had been brewing a thousand years, and as Jon explained what they had found on the last expedition his father led. A war horn, and the first dragon glass weapons seen in years; that was how try learned the weapons were effective against weights and white walkers. But they did not know why the cache had been left there. Perhaps the survivors of the long night so many years ago had not thought the dead would wait a thousand years to return; and left the weapons as a part of a long-forgotten plan.

“Are the free folk staying at the wall?” Jorah asked, the army of the dead had been destroyed, but any man who died and was not burned could become the foundation of another.

“For the most part, a few may have returned to their homes and they do send out hunting parties.” Jon had seen more beyond the wall than most men, and he’d built an alliance with the freefolk; something no one else had managed.

The news was troubling and Jorah continued to consider it that evening, it was discussed at dinner where Daenerys greeted Jon and questioned him about how the North was faring. Seeking an update as well as the strategies they were using to keep the food going to their bannermen being equally distributed.

Jon reported that they faced their own challenges and Jorah was quiet, this was the first hard winter either of them would know; Winter did not come without problems. Privately he worried for his cousin as well, Bear Island was a hard place to spend the winter and she was young to bear the responsibility of the people. For even if there was food the elements would claim some; and their kin would look to Lyanna for aide. But the same was true throughout Westeros, a fever had swept through the winter village beyond Winterfell’s gates, Jon suspected it had come from a traveller arriving from White Harbor as he’d heard similar reports there.

At dinner Daenerys seemed tense and uncomfortable, more so than she had been of late and he saw a few looks go between his wife and her confidante; Grey Worm and Missandei had joined them for the meal. But when she faltered as she stood Jorah frowned, noting the pain that crossed her face; she nearly tumbled over as he lay a steadying hand on her back.

“You must return to you chambers Your Grace.” Missandei stepped quickly to her other side, but she did not seem alarmed and spoke softly. “It is time to call for the midwives.”

“The child is coming?” Her words sent a jolt through his system.

Missandei only nodded as she guided his wife away, a maid hurried off to carry the message and Jorah hesitated only a moment; the women must have realized this earlier. Either way he caught up with them at the base of the stairs and lifted her into his arms; he had watched her struggle with them too many times already. Carrying her to their chamber where he lay her gently on the bed Missandei turned down before going to the fire.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He questioned gently, running a hand along her cheek.

“It was too early; it may be hours yet before you meet your son.” Daenerys murmured, catching his hand to give it a squeeze.

Jorah said nothing, only holding her hand until the midwives arrived to check her, ignoring their suggestions on where he should wait. He roamed only as far as the fireplace for she was stripped to her shift even as wind and snow howled outside. The midwives heated blankets and boiled water, trying to keep Daenerys in the bed as the night wore on.

But she was restless, her whole body tensing as the child tried to reach for the world, Jorah could do little but try to comfort her. He hated seeing her in pain, wiping tears from her cheeks and watching her nails dig into his arm. He didn’t mind the sting, in truth he wished this was a thing he could bear for her.

However, by dawn he could see the concern in the midwives faces and saw his wife’s strength fading. She refused food and sitting next to her it took him more time than he liked to coax her into drinking a little; Daenerys no longer tried to get out of the bed.

“Will she be alright?” He questioned Missandei just near the door, he watched as the midwives examined her again.

“She is healthy, and strong. Some children take days to enter this world.” Missandei meant to reassure him but Jorah's mind went to her first; it had not gone well.

The midwives disappeared a few moments later, fetching fresh herbs and tools, Jorah crossed to the bed and shifted her shoulders into his lap; holding her close. She nuzzled into him; her brow sweaty from the night. Through the thin shift he saw the whole of her belly tense a moment before she hissed in pain once more.

“Take this Your Grace.” A midwife drew close, offering her a small tincture. “Milk of the poppy will ease your pain.”

Daenerys shook her head, fire returning to her eyes and Jorah caught the hand she tried to knock the tincture away with. Reassuring her with a touch, as much as he wanted to take away her pain there were stories of women who never woke after laboring with the poppy; and the babes with them.

“Find something else to help her.” He murmured sternly, wrapping the thick fur around her.

“If the babe does not want to come there is little we can do now that her waters have broken.” The midwife replied, holding out the small bottle once more; Jorah gave her a hard look until it dropped back to her side on a sigh.

The day continued with much of the same, one young midwife joined them in trying to comfort Daenerys; urging her to eat. But the child made no progress and its mother became weaker, and Jorah worried more. It was when he crossed to tend the fire again, he noticed the dragon egg that lay on the hearth had a large crack in it now and his heart sank.

While Daenerys loved the dragons as her children he was not willing to trade either his wife or his child's life for it to hatch. She had believed there may be another way but he feared she had been wrong. As he knelt to touch it, the egg was hot to the touch and through the charred shell he could see a deep purple hide; the creature twisting inside of it.

“Sire.” All but one of the midwives stood behind him, and he rose slowly so they could not see what he had been doing. “To save one of them we may need to cut the child from her, the risk is great but....”

“No!” As ice slid through him, Daenerys cried out from the bed, the suggestion enough to rouse her, for they all knew it was only a slim chance to save either of them in that method.

“You speak of your Queen.” His voice was low and his chest tight, he knew of women who had labored near a week and birthed a child; Daenerys had only been a day and a night.

“The child is stuck within her and both are weak. We do not have head or feet to free the babe from her; the child lies across her womb. She will struggle until they are both dead.” The midwife looked between him and the bed, Missandei was silent, holding her friend as Jorah stared at the women. The suggestion had roused her, but they were right she was not strong, however the youngest of the midwives stayed at Daenerys side and she looked angry.

“Get out.” Jorah whispered, glancing at the egg once more to see the shell had cracked some more. Crossing he held the door for the women, before stopping the youngest who had stayed with Daenerys instead of approaching him.

Outside the door a debate was underway between Sam Tarly and his wife, the young couple stepped aside as Jorah switched to Dothraki, instructing how the midwives should be paid and escorted from the keep. The women’s protests were ignored, but he knew a maester could be summoned and he’d kept the young one who seemed unsure of the others recommendation; and he knew in a city this large there would be more midwives. They just may not have earned the recognition of those who served the upper class, but would deliver as many, if not more babes each year.

“Sire.” Sam Tarly called to him in a nervous voice before Jorah retreated to the room once more. “We had heard that the Queen is struggling, that the child will not come, and I thought; or well...”

“I’ve helped deliver a few children for my sisters, not all were simple; some just weren’t formed right.” Gilly cut off Sam’s stuttering.

“Not that your child would be ill formed but...” Sam started, and the exchange gave Jorah a moment of normality in this whole situation.

No matter the time they spent together or how freely they let the young man speak, when he became nervous Sam Tarly had the demeanour of an abused dog expecting to be kicked for the slightest offense. The late Lord Randall’s doing no doubt, it was worse with him and Ser Davos than men closer to Sam's age; and was a thing the man might never forget.

“We'll take the help, thank you.” Jorah told him, holding the door open for Gilly to enter and seeing that the young midwife had taken the privacy to examine Daenerys again. Missandei stood close and Gilly joined them, Jorah closed the door and stoked the fire in a constant battle with the storm raging outside.

After a time, the midwife stood looking unsure and told them the babe did lay across her womb, the main reason for such pain and so little progress. The young woman firmly rubbed her belly, explaining that the irritation might make the infant shift. “My grandmother taught me; it is not such an uncommon thing; sometimes she had to turn the babes herself.”

“She must have been an excellent midwife.” Missandei encouraged gently, Jorah eased back hoping the women could make her feel at ease and use her skills.

“She was, but she got a fever a year or so again and got the shakes; they never went away.” There was a sadness in the girl's voice that was hard to miss.

“She's alive then?” Missandei’s eyes rose, flitting up to him; perhaps her hands were unsteady, but the knowledge would be invaluable.

The girl nodded and when she admitted that they lived in Flea Bottom Jorah dispatched a pair of Unsullied to fetch her. The Unsullied returned, a man having simply carried the woman, frail and bent with age she paused to thank him before entering the chamber. The girl looked relieved and the old woman, unphased, though the hand she extended to lay upon Daenerys belly trembled violently.

She asked quick questions of the women and spoke gently to his wife before chiding the girl. “Her babe is twisted; you’ll not keep mother and child if she stays on her back.”

And so, they hauled Daenerys up, Jorah held her firmly to get her to take a few steps as under Ina’s guidance the others rearranged the bed before they helped her to kneel upon it. He leaned her into his shoulder and Jorah held her steady when, exhausted, Daenerys tried to slump forward on them. The old midwife gave a quick string of orders to the younger and he half listened as he ran his fingers over his wife's cheek.


	3. Chapter 3

The storm howled outside, and her pained cries rose in the room until suddenly a very different screech was heard; a sound he hadn't heard for years. Her head whipped around, and Jorah struggled to steady her as a moment later her body strained, and the midwives let out sighs of relief.

The babe slid into the world and he carefully laid her back as their child was placed upon her chest. Gilly helped to wipe the blood and fluid from the tiny girl as Daenerys ran her fingers over her back. His own chest finally relaxed and as they tried to make the child cry he stepped away; nervous to see if the egg had hatched as well.

And, as though child had waited for dragon, a small hatchling was trying to unfurl itself from the remnants of shell. Jorah pulled it free and carried it across to tuck it in beside mother and babe, a tiny creature with deep purple scales and an underbelly of the palest lilac, he was startled when his daughter opened her eyes to reveal the same violet eyes.

Then the child let out a hearty cry that made everyone in the room smile, Jorah lay a hand upon the child’s back and leaned down to kiss his wife. She had laboured long and hard for that little girl, but he already knew the pain was second to her.

He’d seen her grief when her son was lost in the Dothraki Sea, today there was a quiet awe on her face; shifting her little girl into her arms. A soft fur was laid beside her and Jorah helped her gently tuck it around the baby before he was nudged aside so the women could tend the after birth and wash her properly.

Jorah did not go far, when she stubbornly demanded to sit up and nurse, he propped her against his chest, watching as she put their daughter to her breast. It was Missandei who spread the news that the child was here, and Westeros had a princess; even over the howling storm they heard the bells ringing.

…

They chose the name Rhainys for their daughter and called her little purple dragon Neveah. The bells rang for hours the stormy morning their daughter entered the world, for a winter storm welcomed Rhainys just as her own birth had been heralded by a summer storm.

The little girl seemed so small and delicate, though the midwives assured her she was a healthy size and suffered none for the struggle it had been to birth her. In only a few days they were learning so much about her, Daenerys was woken by her soft cries and before she could rise, felt her husband’s hand skim along her back.

She shifted to sit as he rose and went to the cradle, Daenerys wanted to keep her close and refused to hire a wet nurse; though she had compromised to hiring a young girl to help with her care during the day. But she alone nursed her daughter, and the child would grow up close to them, not kept away and tended by servants; Rhainys would know her parents well and know she was loved.

Her husband tucked the infant into her arms and then sat behind her, Daenerys leaned back against his chest; they both sat quietly as Rhainys had her breakfast. The little girl liked early mornings, though she knew Jorah had been awake already; her husband was an early riser as well.

“You should sleep a little longer, I will meet you in the hall at breakfast.” Jorah told her, once he lay the baby back in her cradle, he turned towards his own clothes.

“Will you be in the city for very long today?” Jorah was not a man to waste time, or whittle it away doing nothing. The snow that blanketed the city might have slowed work, but her Northern husband wasn't about to let it stop, they might be waiting for spring to dig wells; but there was still much that could be done.

Construction had taken only a three day break for the storm, after that roads were being cleared and men were back at it, carts hauled stone through the streets and the men climbed the scaffolds, bundled in thick furs, laid stone and worked to mend roofs. By the time the warm spring winds blew Kings Landing would look like a very different place.

Daenerys had agreed to take a fortnight to rest after the birth, but that was nearly up, and she knew there were things she should be doing. She felt much better than she had a few days before, and she was already awake. When Missandei came to help her with her hair Daenerys was dressed, her hair long and loose about her shoulders as she leaned over the cradle; her daughter trying to catch locks in tiny fists as it tickled her cheek.

“You should rest Your Grace.” Her friend scolded gently as she set about selecting a coat for her.

“I’ve rested for more than a week.” And she had needed it, but she wanted to do something; and Jorah was out in the city. “I will hear petitions this morning.”

Wisely her friend didn’t argue and helped her prepare for the day before twisting her hair into braids and shadowing her down to the hall to meet her husband. He was slightly more skeptical of her plan to sit the throne this morning, but she knew the line of supplicants grew constantly and lamented that they only represented the ones able to make the trip; and the ones who believed that she would help them.

If she wanted to make the realm into a different sort of place then her people needed to see her, to know that she would fight for them. She was not naïve enough to believe she could say the words and win the smallfolk of Westeros, they would be won by actions, by seeing her act to relieve their suffering.

Yet, all too often they were not the ones to come for her aid, it was the middle and upper classes who came with minor complaints or grievances; many of which centered around the work she believed in. And they went away unhappy, Westeros was changing and the great houses, the lesser lords and their vassal would not roll over the weak; or have her support in doing it.

But the Iron Throne was not a comfortable seat, and it was stubbornness that kept her on it this morning; telling herself it was only for a few hours. Yet when she stepped away there was still more to be addressed; it seemed like a never-ending task. However, as she headed for their chambers, she met her husband, his face grim and shoulders set as he approached her.

“There is a council meeting Khaleesi, they are waiting on us.” He switched to her title with ease, a sure warning that this was important.

“Has something happened in the city?” She demanded as his hand slid to her back, subtly guiding her around.

“Not in the city. In the North, Jon has just received word. I had hoped to find you resting.” That hand rubbed gently at her back; he saw how tired she was.

“I will after this meeting.” She promised, his reaction alone said this was serious.

They cut quickly through the corridors and she saw that the whole of the counsel had assembled already and as she sat each of them took their seats. Jon’s face revealed his fears before he began to speak. “Sansa sent a raven, Bran has left Winterfell, Tormund’s trackers are looking for them; they took a secret passage through the wall.”

“Do you believe he is in danger?” Davos Seaworth asked as she glanced to her husband; his expression was carefully masked.

“Yes, and so are the men with him.” Jon confirmed, she could see the pain in his face. “He went beyond the wall to find his powers a few years ago. I don’t know why he would go back.”

“Maybe he needed to learn something more about being the raven.” Sam added hopefully, there was always a bit of hopeful innocence about him.

But the timing was odd, leaving while Jon was away, and seemingly without telling anyone exactly why or where he was going. Perhaps it was innocent, Bran was still quite young, and his powers had to be captivating, Daenerys knew very little about what it meant to be the Three Eyed Raven; or exactly what the boy's powers were.

The discussion bounced between a skeptical Varys, and Davos’ concern as others chimed in and asked Jon more questions. So far South she knew her friend was at a disadvantage, he would want to look for his brother or help the freefolk tracking him. And Jon had spent a great deal of time away from his family.

“Is the Three Eyed Raven mentioned in any records?” Jorah broke the debate going across the table about the boy's intentions.

“Not that I've seen.” Sam replied quickly and then paused, looking a little uneasy. “But maybe at the citadel.”

“Jon, keep us updated on the search. Sam, let’s try and see what can be learned about the powers the boy possesses.” Jorah glanced at her and on her nod the decision was made, though the issue remained a concern.

With that people began to shift, Daenerys rose, Jorah moving to her side, she knew her husband was likely playing through the possibilities in his head; she would press him for those thoughts in private. The North was the largest of the Seven Kingdoms, even before the Lands of Always Winter were considered; and the region held many secrets.

The White Walkers had marched from beyond the wall and it was there that giants, snarks and the Children of the Forrest had once lived with many other creatures that were but myth to them now. The war in the North was proof that though they were but stories now they had once been as real a threat as any the Realm could face.

“Your Grace.” Varys caught them in the corridor, dipping his head as he approached. “There is another matter you should be aware of; my little birds bring concerning reports of the Lord’s around Lannisport and Casterly Rock demanding taxes of grain and supplies from their smallfolk. A heavy toll to bear in a winter that is only beginning.”

“I hope your birds are not too small to be out of the nest.” Jorah quipped dangerously, touching on one of the rules imposed upon the Master of Whispers; one he tended to forget a little too easily.

“No, my birds have all seen a winter before.” Varys murmured, Daenerys hid her smile, the two men might never like each other, but they were each effective in their own ways.

“Why have we not heard of this from the people? Have any been turned away?” She glanced to both who shook their heads.

“It is possible that the journey is too far, or too costly for those most affected.” Jorah sighed, glancing between her and Varys. “It is a long journey on a good day, in Winter it might be more than the people can do. And some may not know it is illegal, until your decrees it was common practice; the Lord’s responsible know better but the smallfolk may not.”

“Then they will be taught. I will send ravens, the decrees will be posted…..”

“They cannot read either Khaleesi, even if the missives were to be posted. Some may believe the decrees to be gossip, only hopeful rumor and some may have heard nothing. The only way to ensure they know is to send an envoy. Or your warden, but I doubt that would be useful.”

“Are we not building this city with stone from dry gold mines? An arrangement to see funds added to that region?” She questioned quickly, perhaps, more than an envoy needed to go. “If this is true how do we know my conditions of labor and pay are being met?”

There was a proud edge to Jorah’s glance as he nodded; Daenerys had learned a great deal about the politics of dealing Westerosi nobles these past months. They left Varys and returned to their chamber, leaving their respective guards beyond the door and dismissing the maid who watched their daughter. As Jorah stoked the fire, forever worried that either she or their daughter would catch a cold while he stripped to only thin shirt, she cradled Rhainys to her breast; the babe had a strong appetite.

Jorah, having hung his coat and sword belt, sat next to her; watching their child with love clear on his face. And as the young hatching sung its protest, he took the baby from her arms and paced the room to burp her and then to lull her back to sleep. Her heart tightened a little watching, he was a good father and he had not even hesitated when she bore a daughter.

As he sat next to her once more she smoothed a hand across his chest, across the scar she hadn’t opened in nearly a month; the last week or so of her pregnancy his blood had made the babe dance unbearably within her; strengthened against the old curse. His hand covered hers, drawing it away before wrapping an arm around her.


	4. Chapter 4

He lay on his back, fingers tangled in his wife’s hair as she pressed her mouth to the small cut on his chest; sprawled across his body to do so. Only a few weeks after Rhainys birth she’d begun to take his blood again, but Jorah knew she had been thinking about it before.

He did not ask whether it was necessity or comfort, it was a very personal thing for her; but they could put one element of it behind them. Proof of that was just beginning to stir, their daughter had a way of sensing if they were awake; even if they didn’t make a sound. Daenerys only sighed a little and pressed her mouth firmly to the scar to seal it and then crawled across the bed to get their infant as he shifted to sit up.

“Will you be in the city today?” She asked, returning to the bed, Rhainys tucked into her arms; their baby having her breakfast.

“No, I’ll be preparing to sail for Oldtown with Sam, I’ll tour the city once I ensure he’ll meet no resistance at the citadel. Verify how supplies are being distributed, the state of the winter villages nearby and the small folk.” He saw her wince, they had both agreed that the trip was necessary and while it was relatively short, he knew it was not a good time to be leaving her. He’d be in the city only a matter of days, and the trip by sea was far faster than horseback; but he’d be away from his family for a fortnight.

“I might go down to see how the restorations are going. Ser Davos’ report at the counsel meeting was promising. And the snow isn’t going away, people need real homes sooner than later.” She murmured, shifting Rhainys to the other side; Jorah watched her gently stroke the baby’s cheek.

Rhainys was a very content little girl, their daughter was perhaps a little spoiled, being held by either of them, Missandei, or someone else; only placed in her cradle to sleep. But even when she slept, the little hatchling who shared her birth always curled about her feet, currently screeched in displeasure at being left behind. He crossed and let the young hatchling hop onto his wrist, carrying her to Daenerys and gently setting the dragon on her shoulder. Nevaeh clicked in contentment, and Jorah leaned over his wife to press a kiss to her cheek.

“If you go into the city, Eva will want to go. I haven’t been able to take her this week.” The young girl remained a ward, though her care was shared by many in the keep, and the child had an abounding hope of finding her sister; but he’d his own suspicions of what had happened to young Fiona.

They’d spent many days walking through the city, it was their presence that kept progress moving and Eva kept close watch for when they were leaving. Given there was always a unit of guards with them Eva could come, and one man was tasked with keeping track of her. The little girl knew the streets and tunnels better than anyone, but the child had many protectors and whether it was out of guilt or some connection he felt to the girl Varys had taken an interest in her.

“I want you home early tonight.” She murmured as he reached for his sword belt. “We’ll have a quiet night before you leave.”

He nodded and slipped the belt around him, fitting it about his hips before he headed out into the hall. They’d problems in the Westerlands to attend to as well but knew better than to stretch their resources to far; there were a few players he was sure were waiting for them to do just that. And there was a player in the south he was cautious of, one he’d once brought to serve Daenerys; he’d little doubt that Tyrion Lannister was behind the resistance in the Westerlands. His brother was a fighter more than a strategist, and the Lannisters had already used their share of the Queen’s mercy, Varys’ report had not gone unnoticed.

The tower of the hand converted to quarters for visitors as he took an office near their rooms and held meetings in the counsel chamber. Jorah took a few moments at his desk, sorting through the messages that had come in overnight by messenger or raven. Some were from formalities; others were from lords that he would read later; but the message he was hoping for was not here.

He wanted news from the wall, he knew Jon was waiting for it as well; hoping that Bran would be found safe and well. They did not know the purpose of the boy’s disappearance and as of yet there had been no word from the free trackers; men who knew the Lands of Always Winter better than any of them ever would.

There were still questions around the army that had risen from those icy lands, and ancient tales that were nearly forgotten. Down here there was a naivety about it bred from ignorance, the North seemed distant and these cities safe, especially with a fierce winter upon them. Jorah knew better, and so did the Northerners who lived with them in the capitol, these people didn’t know how to survive true winter and struggled with what they received.

In the North winter was a different thing, but a Northerner knew if you allowed snow and ice to stop you from living you would freeze to death; or starve. Whatever lived, or existed beyond that wall knew that even better, for those lands never saw a thaw, ice and snow remained meters deep no matter the season. The other kingdoms did not understand that coming South was easy, travelling and working in the winter here was nothing; they saw snow such as this in spring and fall. Any threat to the North was a threat to the whole realm.

…

Rhainys was left in the care of her maid as Daenerys ventured into the city, bundled in warm furs and with her friend on one side and Ser Davos on the other; listening as the man explained the progress being made in the homes around the harbor. Her eyes flitted over the people they passed in the streets, and the young girl who walked ahead of them, Eva kept the Unsullied on their toes as she walked streets she had once lived in.

Daenerys ordered a pair of guards to stay with the girl as she followed the knight into a renovated home; it had become four apartments. Ser Davos had assigned each to a family according to the census information, they had accurate information for the city’s small folk for the first time; given each person had to register in order to use the soup kitchens or join a work crew.

It was through registration that one received rations of food, pay and eventually living quarters. The expense of it all offset by the restoration to the city and the increase in skilled laborers; in time she hoped this venture would pay for itself. Daenerys met briefly with each family, pleased to see that a home that had once sheltered one family before being abandoned now gave twelve children a home; and their parents a certain sense of pride.

She’d a small gift for each family, small letter blocks for them to play with; the young ones smiled shyly at her and took the prizes nervously before she left. Ser Davos leading her on. “It is a work in process, but it is coming along.”

“I think it is wonderful, and for families who take advantage of it a great opportunity.”

“Yes, but not all want to wait; some are jealous of those who have been housed. Tired of living in barracks or hiding in the streets, they want more Your Grace, and they have no qualms about taking it.” The knight cautioned her.

“Then Unsullied patrols in this area will be increased until the neighborhood is completed. But work must continue; street by street.” She countered firmly, men who wanted to get ahead by taking, by harming others would face consequences; this was not the usurper’s reign and in time her people would be cared for.

But there was decades of work to do, left from before even her father’s reign, her vision for Westeros was not the one of the past. It was going to take time to put things right, and it was worth the time to do it right. Daenerys toured several more new homes and then a soup kitchen that was in operation; and the children being tended in the hall behind it.

And she noticed Eva scanning faces, it brought a sad smile to her lips; the girl did not give up. Never would, even though they had searched much of the city in the weeks after she became Queen; hoping Eva's little sister would appear for a meal. She watched the girl slowly circle the hall as children played and near the back the little ones napped; there had to be fifty children here.

“Some belong to the women work in in the kitchen, others live on the streets nearby and come in to keep warm during the day. It is the same a nearly every shelter in the city since His Grace made the arrangements.” Ser Davos informed her.

“It is a shame we cannot offer them more given they are all here every day.” She murmured, thinking of the sparse lessons she’d had as a child.

It was only their protector who had believed she must learn and after his death Viserys hadn’t any interest in teaching her, even before their circumstances became difficult; he only needed her to be a bride for his army. Daenerys had used what she knew to teach herself more as she could, and she had enjoyed stories, able to escape her own life for a little while when her brother’s temper rose.

“I have been teaching a few of the maids and girls working in the Red Keep, perhaps one of them could be spared to come here a few days a week; I could help her prepare lessons.” Missandei offered, her confidant had also been teaching Eva to read; and Daenerys nodded.

“If there is one or two you believe are ready, we will make the arrangements.” She handed the matter over eagerly, Missandei was organized and thorough. “As more women are trained, we will try to get someone going to each children’s hall.”

They turned back to the Keep soon after, the cold creeping through the warm furs. Within the gates all but her personal guards slipped away and she sent Missandei to find her pupils; heading for her the day nursery near their chambers. Unable to resist the urge to check on Rhainys.

She found the day nursery full of people, but couldn’t help smiling as she saw her daughter cradled in veined frail hands, the young ones that had delivered her pressed over top to hold the baby to the elderly midwife’s chest. Her husband had given the two women chambers in the Keep along with their wages for their service to her; and Daenerys was glad of it.

“Your grace, my grandmother only…” Seeing her the girl had jumped back and dipped to curtsy, the elderly woman dipped her head but simply continued to rock Rhainys in her arms.

“It is fine, you are welcome to visit her.” Daenerys soothed, she might not be here with her daughter if not for the old woman’s experience; and the young woman’s willingness to listen. “You are our honored guests, and your home shall always be in the Red Keep, but do not let it limit your work.”

“I haven’t much work, Your Grace.” The girl murmured, looking uneasy as Daenerys drew closer and took Rhainys into her own arms before taking a seat of her own; settling the baby to nurse.

“You’ve delivered the heir to the Iron Throne; the ladies of Westeros will seek your aide I am sure; but you shall always have a place in my service.” She promised.

“I am only a midwife, I have not studied the healing arts, I want to; but only a maester may study certain things.” The girl murmured.

“I’ve known of women who are healers.” She frowned, there were stories of Robb Stark’s wife being a healer; dying with the Stark boy in the Frey’s treachery.

“They are foreign.” She murmured quietly.

“Then Westeros is doing something wrong.” And not for the first time. 

She spent a bit of time visiting with the two women while Rhainys nursed, her mind troubled by all the things that had yet to be started in Westeros. Yet as the afternoon wore on and she saw no sign of her husband Daenerys went to look for him.

He sailed tomorrow, she was going to miss him more than she wanted to admit; and tonight, she simply wanted his company. Jorah worked long hours, he served as her hand and led her counsel, but he oversaw a massive amount of work going on throughout the realm; for if not watched she knew some of it would be ignored by the Lords of Westeros.

She found him in his office, reading a scroll, intent upon his work as she studied him from the doorway. He’d a lamp on the desk and lay the scroll aside to take up a quill and make a note in the ledger he updated continually. Daenerys had spent a great deal of time with him pouring over that book, and her own ideas had a part of laying it out.

Divided into seven sections, and each section was identical, but for the cover page upon which he carefully transcribed elements of her dreams; planning to make them a reality. One section for each kingdom, the first pages with the projects each kingdom needed to undertake, the next listed their various lords, and the peoples who lived in their lands and after that was a narrative on the progress and issues in each.

It was Jorah’s method of compiling the numerous progress reports and grievances that arrived every day and as he could not oversee every matter, in the margin, he scrawled names of who was to attend each notation. Her hands ran over his shoulders, leaning over him to read what he was writing.

It was an update on the work on Dragonstone, the quantities of dragon glass sold this month; and the profit that would come to her. Dragon glass had become a valuable stone for weapons and when heated carefully jewelry, they mined it, worked it and sold it from Dorne to Winterfell and shipped it across the sea to the wealthy of Dragon’s Bay who paid handsomely without understanding its true value. It was dragon glass that was shaping the seat of her house faster than any other, the steady trade was good for her people; and profitable.

“Are you done for the night?” She murmured, pressing her cheek to his; feeling the roughness of his beard against her skin.

“Yes Daenerys.” He lay a hand on her arm and leaned back in his chair; she knew Sam Tarly helped him with much of this however they were both leaving in the morning. His desk would pile up quickly and she privately promised to try to come in here a few times.

He rose and they returned to their chamber, she’d already asked to have their dinner laid out privately; and dismissed the attendants so that they could be alone. They shared the meal comfortably, Rhainys napped in her cradle as she told Jorah of her day and her plans to send teachers around to the various children’s halls.

Restoring the city and a basic standard of living was a complex process, constantly shifted by the discovery of new elements. And her husband’s patient smile said what he didn’t, but Daenerys knew she couldn’t save all of them. Even with every tool offered to them, some would choose what they knew, ignoring work and food for the wasteful ways of alehouses and brothels; and that was not a trait limited to the smallfolk.

It was a conversation they’d had many times before, but when they shifted to the highbacked chairs by the fire Jorah pulled her into his lap. It was a move that never failed to give her a surge of satisfaction, there had bee a time when he would never have done so; and Daenerys loved the way he could simple relax with her tucked into his side. He’d absently run his fingers along his back or trail them through her hair and the touch of a man had never made her feel safer; or more content.

“Its good, nothing formal but it will give us a chance to feel out the challenges of such a venture.” He murmured.

“It might make a difference for a few.” She smiled at him, knowing there was more he wasn’t saying.

Most would never need to know how to read or write, the work available to them would never require. Yet it would mean a piece of parchment could not be used as a blank threat against her people and should any take the opportunity to raise their status, they would have the skills needed to reach out and take it.

It was their daughter’s cry that paused their conversation and Daenerys rose to get her but brought her back to him. Handing Rhainys to Jorah as she loosed the straps of her dress to bare her breast, she knew why her daughter fussed and her husband shifted them both into his arms. Rubbing her back as she nursed their little girl, he was not bothered by the interruption to their evening.

Eventually she rose to lay Rhainys down and eagerly returned to his arms, curling into his lap and leaning her cheek against his chest; listening to the beat of his heart as his hands smoothed over her back again. But Daenerys felt a little uneasy, she was comforted being in his arms and yet she didn’t want much more. His touch was comforting and warm, it was not that it didn’t effect her; and though Jorah did not press her she’d seen that her body still effected him.

“I am sorry this is not much of a send off.” It was just hard to feel attractive when her body was swollen from carrying their babe, and her breasts tender with milk; the idea of him nuzzling her breasts embarrassing.

“This is perfect, I’ll only be gone a fortnight.” Jorah murmured and he tipped her chin up; pressing his mouth to hers and then whispered in her ear. “Wait until you’re ready.”


	5. Chapter 5

They spent several days at sea, the waters rough and Jorah watched Sam struggle with the tossing ship, much as the Greyjoy captaining the ship did. Yara had recovered her ordeal at the hands of Cersei and Euron, the woman led her people in their new venture and any dissent in her lands was dealt with in her way.

Jorah knew the Ironborn had been forced to make a different sort of life, honoring the oath between Yara and Daenerys that the Iron Islands might not sow, but they would not rape or reave either; commissioned as the Queen’s fleet. Daenerys had honored her part of the pact and kept the ships moving from North to South and East to West, exporting goods and importing supplies; moving units too and from the garrisons. He was sure not all who sailed with her had agreed easily, but Yara had needed no support in taking control of her people; nor did her ships fall victim to pirates.

In truth he enjoyed her company, she knew the waters off the coast as well as any he had ever met and understood her ship and the sea. And Yara had a certainty of herself, she had rolled her eyes as Sam stuttered out a report on what he had learned so far of the ancient Northern history. She used his title in a casual way, as easy as one might his name; it was refreshing after so much time in the capitol.

And the reason he gravitated towards the Dothraki for his guards, he had grown used to their way in exile. There were days he missed the simplicity of the culture, moving with the horde and found ways to replicate that in court. Relying upon Ser Davos to help him with the administration of many matters and Sam for the research and information.

The purpose of this trip tied to their joint past in Oldtown, and he was not sure how the citadel would receive them; in truth he had mixed feelings about returning. But Jorah did not feel fear, certainly not to the extent Sam Tarly was feeling it.

The man had been chattering random facts and ideas for how to complete his search as quickly as possible since they made port. Jorah remained silent; the young man would have all the time needed to complete his research; the maesters would be busy.

The citadel had always enjoyed a certain authority as the maesters were men devoted to learning, recording the events of history for future generations and studying the various medicinal and scientific arts. But under previous rule they had little oversight as long as they provided certain resources and reports.

There was no guarantee that they would continue to operate with such freedom, he had his wife’s goals and mandates in mind; his own stay in their sick cells a factor. And he revealed nothing as he eyed the Archmaester, no doubt informed before they reached the gates; he knew this man.

“Your Grace.” The old man stooped to bow, and Jorah left him bent over a moment, not out of malice or personal enjoyment; it was a practice he could do without. “The citadel will be honored to serve the throne.”

“Lord Tarly will use your records to conduct our research, the maesters shall assist him in any matter he requires. I will be reviewing the efficacy of the sick cells and the medical skill available.” The Archmaester had recognized them both, the man wouldn’t dare disobey him; and Sam stood at his side. Sam had slunk from this place, the man that greeted them had once suggested he should die here.

The man nodded though there was little choice in the matter and with the pleasantries out of the way he shadowed Sam into the library. While the man eagerly disappeared between the rows of shelves, he nodded to one of his guards, Torvo, to remain with Sam, Torvo spoke the common tongue quite well and the horselord would not let Sam be pushed around. Jorah was relieved to walk away from the headache he knew searching those shelves would certainly be.

But Sam would enjoy it and he outmaneuvered the Archmaester, the man would tire before he’d seen half of what he needed to. So, he left the old man at a long table, examining what looked to be blood being filtered through a long tube; the Dothraki eyed the situation skeptically.

Jorah ignored the man yapping at him and approached the first cell, knowing he could safely open the slot; knowing just how far one could reach through that opening. But the occupant was not near the door and he leaned forward, the man only turned his head, laying weak in the bed.

“What is wrong with him?” Jorah called to the Archmaester who had started down the corridor.

“He is suffering a strange fever….” The man’s voice wavered as he reached for the latch and pulled open the door. “We do not yet know if he is contagious!”

Jorah ignored him, he didn’t intend to get too close; but he didn’t trust the Archmaester and spoke gently to the ill man. “What care have you received since coming here?”

…

In Jorah’s absence she kept Grey Worm and Missandei close, forced to rely upon her other advisors a little more; she trusted none of them completely. Only two who sat on that counsel were completely hers, in one manor or another the rest had served other rulers; some had even served her own kin.

Today she sat at her husband’s desk to update his ledger, Ser Davos had given her a report on the rehoming project, though the number still waiting remained staggering; and that number who had given their information in the census. Near her Missandei opened some of the scrolls marked for the Hand, the maester of King’s Landing had been relieved of certain tasks by her husband soon after they took the city. That man now spent most of his time lurking in the libraries and avoiding his true duties; but Jorah would be addressing that at the citadel no doubt.

“Your grace, Lord Stark should see this. I believe it may have been delivered to the King in error.” Her friend passed her a small scroll; a frown on her face.

Daenerys took it and winced, it took her a moment to sort out the horrible penmanship; but it had come from the wall. One of the men of the Nights’ Watch who had returned with the free folk to live on the wall sent word that they had found the bodies of those accompanying Bran Stark. They had once again lost the boy’s trail.

The note said the bodies of the Stark men had been gored, their weapons gone; the Stark boy was feared dead. But Daenerys knew that was only written as logic dictated that be written, a cripple boy alone North of the Wall would certainly be dead; but Bran was no ordinary boy.

“Take this to Jon, I am going to write to Jorah.” She murmured, the missive said the men had been gored, not stabbed or slain. Did the free folk believe them killed by some sort of animal? What animal would take weapons? Bran Stark certainly would not be able to swing a sword.

She penned a short note to her husband and sent it with one of the Unsullied, the raven should reach Jorah tomorrow; this was something he needed to be aware of. And she went to see their daughter before the counsel met this afternoon; she needed a few moments of peace before that.

Her husband could silence the counsel with a glare, the meetings annoyed him on a good day; without him she felt some of her advisors were testing her limits. Varys in particular seemed to have a great many issues he didn’t dare to bring up before her husband; Daenerys had to put him in his place just as quickly lest lose the control Jorah had helped her gain over him.

They spy master was useful, she had no argument there, but now he had rules to follow; and his actions monitored. His use of children would not be forgotten, nor his pattern of betrayal; she did not forget how he came to her cause. Or what his plan had been, Jorah had interfered with that and she knew he regretted that.

But it could not be undone, and she had learned a great deal from those experiences, about when to forgive and when to trust; about how to read a man. Ruling was a journey, and she must continue to learn along the way; for she did not follow the ways of those who had come before her. A plan some still questioned, today however that conversation was tabled once Jon read out the message he had received.

Conversation bounced around the table, and Daenerys listened as Ser Davos made a keen observation. “The boy has been reported to have some powers to control men. Do we know that these men went with him willingly?”

“Bran does have powers, and I cannot say if those men went of their own accord.” There was sorrow in Jon’s voice, and she knew he was torn between love for his younger brother and fear of what he might have done. “But he survived beyond the wall once before.”

“He couldn’t have managed it alone then.” Daenerys spoke, her voice cutting through the discussion. No matter what powers the boy had he would always need help with certain things. “Who went with him?”

“Lord Reed’s children, and a man from Winterfell who had carried him since the accident. As far as I know only Bran and one of Lord Reed’s children returned.”

“Only his daughter, Meera Reed and Bran Stark survived.” Varys confirmed.

“The North is a hard place to survive, beyond the wall is even harsher.” Ser Davos muttered, but she heard the skepticism is in his voice; they were all wondering at what all of this meant.

“But do we believe the boy’s intentions are innocent? Or otherwise?” Varys asked, she knew he posed his question carefully; she saw the irritation on Jon’s face. “What is left up there for him to find?”

“We used to know what lived beyond the wall, that was why it was built; but in the centuries since we have forgotten. The free folk know it far better than we do.” Jon spoke softly, there was danger in his voice that paused the debate.

Daenerys was quiet, he was right and what had been beyond the wall had driven the free folk south; only the dead had been defeated. And the tribes did not return to their homes, instead they lived upon the wall that had opposed them for so long. Was it a sense of ownership? Or something else?

“Your Grace, if I may, I will sail to Eastwatch by the Sea and from there go to join the free folk in their search. I will ask them of their legends and send it south; that it may be added to Sam’s research.” Jon said quietly, speaking to her as though they were having a conversation alone.

She paused, it was a good plan though she had been hoping to continue reviewing plans for the North and discuss the tactics they were using; for that kingdom was more receptive to her reforms. But that could wait, Sansa sent her regular reports on the dispersal of supplies and the needs they had; her reports often contained notes on the sickness and suffering that affected the small folk.

“Go but keep us informed.” Perhaps she could ask her questions through correspondence, it had to be hard for Jon to be unable to help his family. “And perhaps we should speak to Lady Reed.”

Varys nodded and as the meeting broke up Daenerys stopped him. “She is a girl, yet she did this as a child while her father was away at war; but she survived. She must be a fighter, a strong woman; her father must be proud. And she will know the North, send word to Lord Reed that I would see his daughter, offer to bring her into my service.”

The man nodded, and Daenerys returned to her chambers, Missandei kept her company in the evening but she crawled into bed alone yet another night; her daughter settled in the cradle not too far away. He had been gone little more than a week, but already their daughter had grown so much, as her hatchling; she lay awake listening as it chirped a soft song to which Rhainys fell asleep.

There was a price to ruling, they paid it right now, in the stresses of trying to manage so many men with their own agenda’s, ensuring people felt heard; but they did it for the babe who slept to the tune of a dragon’s song. They would build a knew Westeros for their people, and for their daughter to rule some day; they worked and planned for day even now.


	6. Chapter 6

The maesters would be glad to see the end of him, given he had already completely upended their practices and routines. Jorah had spent several days in the sick cells, speaking with the sick, and watching the treatment the maesters offered. They huffed about his presence and the propriety of it, but he ignored them; aware the Archmaester watched him warily. He had once been given the suggestion to end his own life here, and it was not one of the maesters weighed down by a hundred links of chain who had saved him.

No, he owed his life to the young man Torvo reported was still half afraid of the men here; the Dothraki saw that Sam’s work went uninterrupted. The horse lord had no fear of old men in chains, and Jorah had fielded more than one complaint about his guard threatening to use said chains to strangle maesters who found tricky little ways to bother Sam.

The Archmaester had not appreciated his response to that, or that of the Dothraki who stayed with him, and one of his guards had translated it for the others. The maesters did not understand the Dothraki any more than the horse lords understood them, unable to discern the reason to learn only of books and never the sword; they found the maesters weak and vulnerable.

In a way they were, and yet the wealth of knowledge here was valuable, if it was utilized correctly. Jorah had spent a day in the village that had sprung up beyond the citadel, filled with those waiting for a room, or for their loved ones. Beyond that, in a poor section of the city he found those who had come but were unable to see their sick treated, all their resources spent in Oldtown they had nothing left to make the journey home.

The small security they might have had in life spent upon a prayer; and some had lost much, families that would never recover. It was a story that was repeated that day and throughout his visit it played through his mind as he washed for the night. He took precautions in the city and in the sick cells, but he still scrubbed his skin. Then sat down to a private meal, reviewing the citadel’s ledger as he ate.

One good thing about the citadel was it was a restricted order, he had addressed them at their evening meal his first night here; but escaped the a feast or celebration of his presence. They had few to impress, a ceremony he would not have avoided if he stayed in a holdfast; but he’d met briefly with the nobles of Oldtown as well.

It had been a busy trip, he had taken many notes and would return with them to Kings’ Landing, and he had covered a lot of ground; but it was time to return to his family. In part because he missed them, but also because of what was happening in the North; Sam would stay on here to complete his research. Jorah did not like to leave his wife to her counsel. And he would find out how they had been treating her; he’d get a full report from Grey Worm and perhaps Ser Davos for Missandei would only tell him what Daenerys wanted her to.

In truth the trip home with the Ironborn would be a bit of a reprieve from politics, Oldtown was full of it and the capital, he needed to stay on top of it lest someone else gain control. Too many players from the past regimes remained, both in the capital and their respective kingdoms; if not supervised he knew the politics of old would make a vengeful resurgence. And the nobles throughout the South were resistant to Daenerys plans, they’d be disappointed to learn she had far more in store; but he intended to let winter drag on before introducing that fact.

Food was one of their greatest bargaining chips, it had won favor for the Queen in the North and strengthened ties with that vast kingdom in a way that could not have been achieved in any other way. Food was rebuilding King’s Landing as fast as any builder for it was through the soup kitchens they got a look at people and got them moving towards something different. And the Queen paid for it, some was given in taxes by her vassal kingdoms in Dragon’s Bay, but it was the trade agreements and the sale of dragon glass that was feeding Westeros.

However, the trade agreements and balance of Westeros on the global scale was delicate, the previous rulers had left large amounts of debt which had to be managed. The Lannisters had been forced to wipe a large portion of debt, and they had informed the Iron Bank that they would not be repaying the loan that Cersei Lannister had taken to oppose them; that could be taken up with her house. And yet they had only the resources of House Targaryen to start with; and Jorah knew the risks of debt.

It was an issue he had addressed in Oldtown, requiring an accounting of how the citadel spent their allotment from the crown; something that seemed to have been overlooked for several years. Especially as he was informed of how much was being charged of those in the sick cells, the Archmaester had not enjoyed that conversation; and given him a stack of ledgers to pick through.

Jorah would be reading each and ever one of them, taking that conversation to their master of coin in King’s Landing, gold would not be blindly spent now. While some of the maesters seemed eager to listen and to offer aide it was their elders who were a little too reserved, a trait shared by the nobles of the city; Jorah was mistrustful of them.

With his things packed he made his way towards the harbor, he walked between the guards returning with him, and a few Ironborn returning from their stay in the brothels near the harbor. They moved through the streets and the hustle of the docks that moved aside for them to pass.

He smiled as he saw a few children watching them from the shadows, he thought of his own wife and daughter; it would be good to be home. But as Jorah turned to step into the skiff that would take him out to Yara Greyjoy’s ship he saw a face; a face he knew to be in King’s Landing.

“Fiona?” He murmured; she was a younger than Eva; but had the same face. And as quick as he saw her she disappeared, Jorah stepped back onto the dock and gave a quick order to the men with him. “Round up the children, do not hurt them.”

He headed in the direction that he had seen the girl; they would not find all of the children who lived in these streets; but that girl was small and she had not lived here all her life. He heard one of the Dothraki cursing him in the guttural language, no doubt trying to keep track of him.

…

In the week that followed there was no news from the North, nor from Oldtown and Daenerys was not waiting patiently. She worried for her friend, her nephew who had gone North to the wall and her husband who was somewhere on the sea between Oldtown and King’s Landing.

Rhainys was busy, she had discovered that Nevaeh’s tail, the little girl loved to catch it as the hatchling flicked it about her whenever perched within reach; it was a game for the two of them. Their daughter loved to grab at things and could now roll from her back to her belly, using chubby little arms to pull herself closer to anything she liked.

Daenerys was thankful for the maid who helped with her and the regular visits from the elderly midwife who delivered her. The old woman’s hands might shake but she could soothe Rhainys’ cries in seconds and contain grabby little hands; and her tales were soothing. She had spent more than one night sitting in the woman’s company, her daughter tucked into someone’s arms as the old woman told them stories of the past, of birthing children and living in the city.

Though she sensed that the woman’s stories were careful, Daenerys knew it was her own ancestors who had ruled when the woman was young, and she spoke of the hardships in which women labored. She thought of the raven Jorah had sent from the citadel, he’d shaken up the maesters and nobles of the town; her husband had a certain manner of conducting business.

He understood politics, the son of a noble house he’d certainly been taught such things; even if she had not been raised in exile Daenerys doubted that she would have been taught such things. However, she had been taught well, and while she still learned to deal with the games of politics, she knew her own mind and how she wanted to rule. And a man who fully supported her vision.

Tonight, she sat with her infant daughter in a great window, Nevaeh perched upon the sill watching the large dragons soar around the tower. Missandei carefully pulled apart her braids, running a comb through her long hair as Daenerys watched the dragon’s wings glint through the grey skies.

Suddenly her sons turned towards the harbor, a ship putting to anchor as the tides changed; it was too far out for her to see the sails. Was it from the North? An Ironborn ship of supplies or men. The dragons were naturally curious, and she saw the signal go up on the walls, her guards knew what to do. Daenerys rose and lay her daughter in the cradle, preparing for bed as Missandei left her. She had curled into her bed, listening to the purple dragon’s song in the dark room.

She was half asleep as the door opened and torch light from the hall filtered in before a lantern was carried into the room. “Daenerys.”

She sat up but already her husband came towards the bed, gently he took her face in his hands and his forehead pressed to hers. She didn’t need to say anything, only leaned into his arms and felt safe. He used the lantern to light a second and he leaned over the cradle to touch their daughter’s cheek.

“She’s grown so much.” He whispered, as she lay her hand against his side.

“We’ve missed you.” Daenerys murmured, nuzzling into him as he slid an arm around her.

“I didn’t come back alone, but you’ll have to wait till morning to meet her.” He smiled, and she frowned a moment before he continued. “We found Fiona.”

“In Oldtown?” She murmured, surprise racing through her as she thought of Eva.

“A different version of the same story, do what was asked of her to protect her sister; she had been spying in the courtyard of a holdfast for a time. She was thrown to the streets, no one ever came for her, so she’s lived there since. We found her near the harbor.” He sighed, his palm running over her back as he told her the story. “I’ve told the maids to take Eva to her in the morning.”

She only leaned into his side, his arms and voice a greater comfort to her than anything. Jorah undressed quickly and joined her in the bed; she nestled into his chest and slept soundly. And woke to her husband tracing his fingers over her back.

Jorah stayed with her until Missandei came to tend her and then slipped away, Daenerys went to find the sisters; eager to see that happy reunion before she went looking for her husband. Not at all surprised that her husband was not there to see the results of his work, but she spent some time with two excited children and introduced herself to the younger.

She found Jorah at his desk, but his jaw was set, and she knew his face; the grim expression there as he held a scroll. He glanced up at her and then passed the page across. “Varys got word from his birds in the North. The men that went with Bran Stark, they made no preparations, didn’t tell their families they were going on an expedition or that they had orders. Lady Stark didn’t know her brother was missing for the better part of a day. The boy spent more than a week before he left in the crypts.”

“They didn’t go of their own free will.” Daenerys murmured; it was an idea that had been mentioned; but Varys’ spies had needed time to send the answers.

“More than that, he planned his departure for when his brother was away, and his sister had sent the best of their men to see supplies down to the Neck.” Jorah tapped his fingers against the desk. “His time in the crypts, I believe it was research. When we left Winterfell, Sam took all texts referencing the crypts and the long night, but with Bran’s powers; I don’t know that he needed the texts. We know he can see the past, but we do not know the full extent of his powers. The North is still in danger.”

“The men though they were gored, they were dead and did not rise.” Daenerys observed, rounding to tuck herself into his lap.

“The white walkers may be gone and perhaps even their wights, but we cannot forget that walkers were not a race; they were made. Made of men by another sort of creatures, things that are made can be made again and that boy’s powers allow him see the past; we do not know where his powers come from.” Jorah muttered, running it all through his own mind as his fingers ran over her back. “’And the Westerlands want grain.”


	7. Chapter 7

He had little time to waste after arriving home, turning his attention to all that was happening in the capital. Ser Davos and Grey Worm had a great deal to tell him, each working on their own projects, and the General of the army was charged with a great many tasks; and still he’d kept careful watch over Daenerys. Reporting of her counsel meetings, or more precisely the men who attended with her, and recalling their time with a past advisor to the Queen.

The Westerlands had sent a plea for help, for supplies, their own running dangerously low as the grip of Winter tightened around them. Even in Dorne cold temperatures made crops fail; and Westeros was poorly prepared for the long-awaited winter. But the problem lay in the reports coming from that region, and the houses that led it.

The South was a snake pit, except for lands that had previously rebelled; the Dornish were surprisingly cooperative. And yet they had to be careful in how they dealt with the Westerlands; Tyrion’s betrayal was not forgotten. Nor was his cunning, already reports of the South ignoring the Queen’s decrees and continuing with the old ways even as they begged the Queen’s supplies.

Jorah was hesitant there, Daenerys did not want to send supplies for the nobles to horde for their own security. And his wife had reasons for that belief, they ignored her decrees in other matters; she felt that the quarried and cut stone the capitol purchased was support enough. Yet if they were ignored, he was certain the nobles of the Westerlands would ensure their people knew exactly who to blame; and that could gain them the support necessary to become a true problem.

However, that was not the only matter they had to contend with, Jon Stark had sent word from the North; Bran could not be found. Yet blue fires burned each night far beyond the wall, their smoke a strange hue as it ebbed into the night sky. The Starks worried for their brother and word had it Arya was making her way north to the wall even as they brought Meera Reed South. By his calculation the ship bringing the girl should arrive within the next day or two; depending on whether or not a storm blew up.

Jorah was eager to hear what the girl had to say, to glean what he could from her journeys with Bran Stark; and what she had seen as he became the Three Eyed Raven. He settled at his desk for the afternoon, having spent the morning standing beside his wife; listening as she kept her audiences. They’d the pleasure of Lord Gendry’s company this morning, making for an easier day.

He had sent word that another shipment of smithed dragon glass had been shipped East for sale. Gendry brought reports on his lands, and those he oversaw, he was learning to lead and having grown up in hardship he had empathy for the smallfolk of the Stormlands; more comfortable among them then the nobles.

It was good for Daenerys to have a new face at the counsel meeting, and a supportive voice; it forced a few other men to listen. Jorah watched his wife as he followed the discussion on rehousing the small folk of Kings Landing. Ser Davos was managing the crews, working as quickly as possible to get people into real homes; and removing the squatters who were trying to dodge the real process.

“Are we going to discuss the situation in the Westerlands?” Varys asked, taking advantage of the slightest lull in the conversation.

“Do your little birds have any words of compliance or goodwill from the lords of the region?” Daenerys asked, her voice dangerous; Jorah only hid his reaction. Gendry had been a good distraction; he’d wanted more time to discuss that matter privately with her. Her ideas for dealing with the Lords of the Westerlands and the warden there were not gentle.

“No, but they do bring word of starvation and illness in the winter camps and villages across the kingdom.” The spymaster murmured; the table had become very quiet.

“And the Lannister’s supplies?” She countered, to that Varys kept his mouth closed. “I will not give more supplies for the lords to horde while the villages starve. If they want my grain, they will not keep it for their own tables and I will answer their insolence.”

As the meeting broke up Jorah sat a moment longer, watching as everyone rose before he stood to follow; Varys moved to head him off. His wife was ahead with Gendry and Missandei, Jorah eyed the man skeptically. “This is not the right approach to the Lannisters, she cannot answer every disagreement with war.”

…

“Queen Daenerys.” Her husband’s voice was casual, even though his tone was formal and just a little tight as she turned back, she found him standing with Varys.

“-consort.” He finished as she joined them; and then he glanced to her. “Varys is concerned for the realm; for the small folk of the Westerlands.”

“I have concerns as well, but your own reports play a large part in my concerns. Do you believe that the Lords of the Westerlands will feed their people if I send them grain? Or will they store it, ensuring they have food to last the winter? Making no difference for those in the small communities and winter villages.”

“No, no I am not sure, but I know if they have no grain supplies many will starve.” Varys spoke quietly and she could see that he was unhappy with her stance and Daenerys understood his stance; but kept herself from asking more pointed questions.

“We will deal with them.” She only nodded and gave her husband a long look; that was easily a conversation he could have handled.

But Jorah remained tense, shifting his weight slightly to block her way, and said nothing, waiting until Varys dipped his head and turned away. Only as the eunuch left, he stepped to the side, letting her go to Missandei who was waiting for her.

“What was that about?” She demanded; he was still watching.

“Not here. Not now.” Jorah muttered, and slipped down the hall, two Dothraki falling in behind him.

As she picked up her own guards one of the Unsullied told her that Meera Reed’s ship had arrived, and she headed for the harbor. Her missive had been as gentle as possible, she didn’t want the girl to be afraid of her, being asked to move so far from home and at her request.

However, the girl she met was not scared, Meera Reed looked around as she walked up the harbor and then she executed an awkward curtsy as Daenerys greeted her. “I hope your passage was comfortable.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The girl spoke, she wore the thick furs Daenerys recognized as Northern.

“This is Missandei, we will show you to your quarters so you can rest after such a long journey.” She told the girl, who looked her friend over and then the guards who stood with her; something lit in her eyes a little.

“I’m alright, but why am I here?” Meera followed them back to the keep, her gaze roaming over everything they passed.

“I have asked you here to join my court…”

“I’m sorry Your Grace, but I’m not a fine lady, I grew up in the bogs; not some palace.” Meera murmured.

“I didn’t grow up in a palace either, but that does not mean I cannot be a lady; it means I have seen how both sides live. And you may choose the job you wish.” Daenerys murmured; the girl was not afraid to speak her mind. But as they approached the day nursery, she was unable to resist pausing to see Rhainys; they had selected quarters for Meera close to their own.

“I can fight.” Meera answered, though her gaze went to the baby as Daenerys cradled her sleepy little girl a moment. “I could serve in your army.”

“You are a nobleman’s daughter; I’ll not have you as a soldier; but we will find a role for you. For the time being I will assign a few of my soldiers, both Dothraki and Unsullied to train with you.” She carried her daughter with them as they continued down to the chamber and saw the girl settled.

They invited Meera to dinner, but with a few hours before the meal she left the teenager to rest and went to find her husband. Predictably he was in his office and giving orders to their guards that they weren’t to be disturbed Daenerys joined him. Silently taking the chair in the corner near the hearth and unfastening her dress that she might nurse their daughter.

And her husband was unable to resist coming over to rub his fingers against their daughter’s cheek, Rhainys suckled with a strong appetite. Jorah stood at her shoulder, his hand rubbing her back now.

“Why did I need to repeat myself to Varys?” She asked quietly.

“Because old habits die hard, he needs to understand that we are a unit and I will not override you.” Jorah leaned down to kiss her cheek. “There are some who struggle to remember that it is you who rules.”

“Is it simply resistance to my new laws, or is it something more?” Daenerys questioned, a thought she had been toying with for a while now, it wasn’t so much that they struggled to remember that she was Queen, they just preferred to ignore it as much as possible. And Jorah dealt with it smoothly, he found his own ways of setting people straight.

“We know Varys and Tyrion are friends, they’ve known each other a long time. I wouldn’t be surprised if he got a private message.” Jorah sighed, reaching down for Rhainys, settling her to his shoulder as Daenerys fixed her dress. The Lords of the Westerlands very much saw the Lannisters as their rulers for the wealth and power the house exercised.

She wondered if it was known that their gold mines had run dry, the quarried stone was the main export right now and there were stone quarries in every corner of the realm. The Lannisters would not be the richest house for long, and they were no longer most powerful, that would be a bitter pill to swallow. Yet if their house was to continue, they would have to adapt to the new world.

A soft knock on the door had her turning, intending to reiterate the orders she’d given but two young girls stood there; Daenerys only beckoned them forward. Eva and Fiona were exempt from many rules and she knew they came to see Jorah just as often as they found her or slipped into Rhainys nursery. Likely knowing the corners and tunnels of the Red Keep better than anyone, for they liked to explore and dodge their studies. They spent time with many of her advisors, Missandei and Grey Worm often played with them, and Varys kept watch over them.

As Fiona stretched up to touch Rhainys’ feet, only about seven she was a strong girl even if she was small, Eva produced a crumpled scrap of paper from her pocket; one end was charred. “Lord Varys had a secret visitor, he left this and after he read it Varys was going to burn it.”

“How do you know this Eva?” Jorah demanded; his tone hard; he took a firm stance on children being used in politics.

“I pay attention.” Eva answered without looking up at either of them. “Thought you should know.”

“You aren’t to be spying for anyone.” Daenerys scolded gently.

“Its not spying.” Eva mumbled. “We were just in there, and he didn’t want us to see who was with him.”

“I don’t like visiting him.” Fiona exclaimed. “But Ev says we need to because he wants us to like him. He wants to make amens.”

“Amends.” Eva corrected quietly, something in the older girl’s eye said it was not children’s innocence that made her agreeable to those visits.

“Forgiveness is good. But people do not like being spied on, and we do not want you spying on anyone.” Jorah told the girls firmly, though the note remained tucked in her hand.

“Why don’t you girls take Rhainys back to the nursery then go and wash up for supper. We have a guest so you must let the maids help you.” Daenerys instructed, the maids and septas could not be blamed for loosing track of the girls, together they were a bit of a nightmare; Eva especially was quick and clever. “Meera Reed wants a fight, perhaps she could become their keeper; she survived beyond the wall. They wouldn’t know what hit them.”

“She’s a fighter, and she might just be craftier than those two; there are a lot of stories about the bogs.” Jorah smiled moving to sit opposite her.

“I haven’t asked her about the North yet…” She started, opening the note, it was a fragment of a letter.

“Not yet, she needs to know us a little first; wait and see if she will volunteer anything. She has certainly heard about what is going on.” Jorah cautioned, her husband had far more patience than she did.

Daenerys struggled to read the fragment before passing it to her husband, the remaining fragment was written in a sloppy hand. There was no signature or seal on the part that was left.

_…the message is no more. The fever spreads rapidly._

“That doesn’t mean much. It might have been one of his spies; Varys guards their identities carefully. Its how he keeps his power.” Jorah muttered, though his frown said he was toying with a few ideas.

That evening the girls chattered happily at Meera, the young woman tried to answer some of their questions but no sooner than she gave one answer than Fiona had asked another. After a time, Daenerys interjected with a question of her own, for Fiona; giving their guest a break.

“Can I watch the Unsullied train?” Meera asked quietly, the girls’ mouths were full of the sweets that had finally been set out.

“Of course.” They agreed, at least the young woman was interested in something around here.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, they took Meera down to the training yards, the girl kept her bow slung across her back; leaving off the heavy cloak. Jorah explained some of the maneuvers to her and then let her roam, Daenerys trailed behind them a little bit, Grey Worm was absent, but his Commanders were efficient. Meera however watched the men eagerly, straying ahead when Jorah paused to wait for her; his hand shifting to her back.

“You promised they would train her; do you have any men in mind? I’ve spoken to Yuncra and Carro.” Jorah told her quietly as they caught up to Meera. “We’ve arranged your training with two of the Dothraki, the Unsullied General Grey Worm will assign…”

Jorah broke off on a gasp, his body heaving forward suddenly and suddenly Meera grabbed him as chaos broke out all around them. She saw Meera standing over him, drawing back her bow, an arrow arced through the air and before she could react, she was pushed down, her guards pressed around her.

“What’s happened?” Daenerys demanded, fear creeping into her gut as she heard a sickening scream followed by that of her dragons; their screeches deafening. And she pushed her way up, Drogon and Rhaegal swooped low over the courtyard as her husband let out a soft groan.

“You must come to safety my Queen.” One of the guards instructed, but they pulled her between their shields she saw Meera go to the man who had fallen from the wall.

Her face was pale, and their eyes met for a moment, both watching as Jorah was hauled up, barely responding even though a bolt stuck from his shoulder. She followed numbly as two men carried her husband, when they lay him in their bed, she went to him, trying to take his hand.

The midwives arrived first, Ina and her grandmother, the old woman lay a shaky hand on Jorah’s back, leaning down to press her cheek to it. Then began ordering her granddaughter about and the soldiers who lingered.

Two men sat Jorah up, the movement brought a sound of pain from him and Ina followed careful instructions, smoothing her hand across his chest and pulling at his coat and the shirt beneath. Instinctively she moved forward to stop him struggling, there was a nasty knot on his forehead, he’d struck it when he was thrown forward; likely why he’d stayed down.

“Let them look at you.” She ordered, capturing his hands before he could knock away the ones holding onto him.

“The arrowhead has come through.” Ina murmured; his shirt was pulled apart to reveal the barb of it protruding from the skin.

“Good then one of these fine lads will cut it off for us and we’ll get underway.” The old woman spoke.

Once the barb was removed, the shaft was drawn back through the wound, Jorah was laid back and a strong, foul smelling alcohol was poured over his shoulder and her husband jerked in pain. He might feel a little off after, but she was assured it would help him with the pain.

“Who was the man that shot him?” Daenerys demanded, now that he was dead did not mean the threat was gone, not until they knew his motivations and whether or not he was alone.

“An archer, one of the locals who joined from the forces left in the city.” Black Slug informed her, but his eyes revealed hesitation of some sort and at her nod continued. “I do not know that the King was the intended target, he was in motion at the strike; he’d been stationary several different times. If he was the target he would have been hit when he was still, it is a painful wound, but it will not kill him.” 

…

He snarled against the pain, it throbbed through his shoulder and into his back; he should be relieved that it wasn’t his sword arm. But just now that was not his main concern, someone had taken a shot into the training yard, and he agreed with the men; he had not been the target.

The only issue was Daenerys had been behind him, a few yards at least, so he was not sure she had been either. That meant the issue might be personal, with one of the commanders or perhaps another soldier, they didn’t have too much trust for the men who had served the other side, that had to be earned and so men of rank did not always find themselves in the positions they’d once enjoyed. Personal would be simple, there were countless possibilities, the Commanders aided Grey Worm in managing the armies, an intricate network that was vital to the stability in Westeros. No one wanted to face the Queen’s standing army, or her dragons.

However, there was little he could do from his bed, he’d sent Yuncra to find out what he could about the situation; and waited impatiently for the man’s report. Daenerys hovered and fussed, bringing Rhainys in, but afraid to let her jostle him about as she played on the bed; Nevaeh perching on the post at the foot to watch it all.

“Daenerys, I am alright.” He soothed, she flitted about the room, tense and uneasy.

“Why did he shoot you?” She muttered. “What is this about?”

“I don’t know yet, but it was a bad shot; and we can find out.” He winced as he shifted to the edge of the bed, bringing her immediately to his side; Jorah only reached out for Rhainys who had rolled towards him with all the glee a baby show. He tickled her outstretched feet with his good hand, making her gurgle in delight and distracting his wife for a moment.

Their daughter had a way of lightening most situations and she loved being the center of their attention. It gave him a little leeway to test himself, his arm hung uselessly in his lap, bound into place by the midwives who had tended him; his wife had little patience for the maesters who muttered of poison, conspiracy and motives. They ignored the midwives, except to debate their work, but the old woman scolded them; she had bound wounds from many wars. But the girl had been torn between listening to the men with the citadel’s chains and her grandmother. She was young and still learning, but as quick to learn as any boy would be.

“It was Meera who killed him; with her bow.” Daenerys murmured quietly and Jorah paused.

He remembered speaking to the girl, but little after that, he had the gash on his forehead to thank for that. Jorah was not surprised, the girl had struck him as capable, and they’d an idea of what she had faced in the North.

“Where is she?” He asked, glancing up to see Yuncra in the doorway.

“The man was Gaven, he had a wife and two children.” The soldier paused, glancing between them. “The men on the wall with him report unknown things, he was acting strangely.”

“Strangely how?” The question was firm, but they had seen a few too many things to dismiss it.

“Some say his eyes went white, others say he became ill; some sort of fit.” The Dothraki told them, though his face revealed that he didn’t believe any of it.

The problem was Jorah wasn’t sure any of it was simple, one man might be right, another wrong; but something had happened here. He winced as he shifted in the bed and dismissed the guard; he didn’t feel like embarrassing himself if he tried to stand.


	9. Chapter 9

Jorah refused to rest, her stubborn husband was like a caged bear in their chamber and she relied upon their guards to help contain him. He wanted to know more about Gaven, the man that had shot him, shooting into the yard; he was using his guards as agents.

She used hers to keep him in their room, she didn’t care how minor he claimed the wound was; and their daughter seemed to be his preferred distraction. Daenerys went to get her from the nursery again, Jorah was adamant they keep the counsel meeting today, but she had already cancelled it as he needed to rest; and so she needed to distract him again.

As she stepped into the nursery, she found the young Northerner leaning over her daughter’s cradle. Meera nearly jumped back as Daenerys cleared her throat, but Rhainys made her displeasure known. Their little girl was apparently providing distraction for more than one person.

“Its alright, you can pick her up if you like.” She joined Meera and reached down to hold the little hand reaching up to her; trying to soothe her daughter’s cries. Hesitantly the girl picked up Rhainys, cradling her as if she were made of glass before holding her close; a far away look in her eyes. 

“I remember when my brother was little, not like this; but Jojen was always different. He was small, really small even though he was only a couple years younger than me.” She spoke quietly, rubbing the baby’s back.

“Siblings are special, and from what I have been told you always looked after yours.” Daenerys murmured, unsure if the girl’s memories were good.

“He was my little brother, I had to protect him.” Meera smiled a little to herself, rubbing Rhainys back easily. “And we had fun together at times.”

She didn’t push, reminding herself to let Meera tell her want she wanted to in her own time. “I did promise her father that Rhainys was coming for a visit; you can come too.”

Daenerys put a hand on the girl’s back, guiding her back towards the corridor and then into their chamber where she found her husband on his feet with the ledger from his office spread across the mantle; Jorah was working with one hand.

“What is going on? You are meant to be resting.” She spoke to Daenerys and turned to the soldiers on his door. “You were to keep him in bed, not move his office in here.”

“It is not their fault.” Jorah turned from the ledger.

“You’ve your guards acting as your eyes and ears, but I expect mine to obey my orders and keep you in bed.” She knew the men were not at fault, they could hardly disobey his instructions; but she could try to guilt her husband into cooperating. “You’ve moved your work in here.”

“This is only a flesh wound; it will heal up just fine; and I need to keep working. I’ve a report from Sam, he’s found a history in the archives, its badly degraded but he’s got some of it. The Children of the Forest made the white walkers to protect themselves from man…”

“We know that, Jorah.” She sighed, slightly relieved when he dropped into a chair by the fireplace.

“That someone potentially found a way to seize power over them, even from the first one made; turned them from the Children for their own purposes. They chose to make their weapon of war out of man, the species they were trying to overthrow.” He glanced over to Meera who still held Rhainys; the girl had gone pale.

“How?” Meera asked softly.

“We don’t know exactly, these records date back to the Night’s Watch thousands of years ago, a commander may have taken a white walker for a wife; but she was more than that. Or at least records indicate she might have been, they gained the power to control the whole of the order; the living and the dead.” Jorah explained, passing the slip of paper to her, Daenerys took a moment to read it.

“How did she control them?” The girl demanded, this time there was fear in her voice.

“I don’t know.” Jorah murmured. “They had a strange vision and managed to impose it upon the men of the Night’s Watch.”

“Having visions does not make someone evil, there have always been seers; they have saved lives and counseled rulers.” The girl spoke bravely, the fire lighting in her eyes. “Jojen was good, he believed in his purpose and he went knowing what it meant. He didn’t do that for the dead, he did it to protect us all; he believed he had to.”

“Of course, he did.” Daenerys soothed, the girl did not know enough of them to know that she’d had dreams of her own; Jorah the first to truly believe in her. “No one here doubts the power of visions or dreams.”

Jorah nodded, but their eyes met and neither pushed her, Daenerys handed over the message from Sam; the girl could read well enough. She needed to feel safe, she needed to know that whatever she said would be respected; Daenerys remembered how Jorah had done that for her when they first met.

She’d been a girl, scared and beaten back by men who wanted to control her, he was the first one who didn’t try to; simply listened and answered her questions; telling her stories. Meera knew how to fight, she understood that, but the girl had to learn her voice mattered and how to use it.

…

It was later that evening when there was a knock on his door, no doubt an approved visitor given a guard did not announce them first. He crossed to open it, Daenerys was out with the dragons, and given they were quiet he wondered if she hadn’t taken advantage of the calm evening for a flight; both she and Drogon had been longing to since Rhainys’ birth.

Meera stepped into the chamber, clasping her hands behind her back and dipping her head to acknowledge him; the brave stance did not hide her fear. Jorah crossed to sit by the fire, taking a casual approach to her; giving her the floor.

“You’re from Bear Island, your father was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.” Meera’s voice was hushed. “You know the old stories; do you believe them?”

“To some extent.” He leaned back in the chair; his words had put her guard up a little more as she eased towards the door. “I believe at the core of them is truth, but over the centuries I think a great deal has been added; and lost. I’ve seen too much to dismiss anyone who tells me a tale.”

“I don’t have facts, but I know Bran Stark, I don’t believe he is evil.” The girl had heard the stories going around the North; Varys’ spies reported a growing mistrust of the Stark boy; even if they found him alive, he might never be able to go home safely. “But what happened beyond the wall it made him different somehow. After he became the Raven, he wasn’t the same; I don’t know that he realized he changed though.”

“Different how?” He questioned, this was the information they needed, but the girl was quiet for a time.

“The stories are true, the Children of the Forrest are real, and you fought the war of the dead. Bran saw it in his visions, the past when the White Walkers were made, I heard one say that the Children lost control of them, then the wights and White Walkers attacked them too.” Meera answered his question in a round about way. But she gave detail to visions Bran hadn’t really told them much about.

He had been wondering how honest the boy had been with them during their time at Winterfell. It was understandable that he was cagey about his condition given the nature of the Northerners; but they had wondered how much he knew.

“We do not know what became the true purpose of the White Walkers, or what drove them. They were looking for something at Winterfell, in the crypts, something that must have been taken from the previous Night King when Brandon the Breaker won the war the first time. But the age of heroes is a long stretch of time and many of the events have been lost.” It was a conclusion they had come to before marching South. Winterfell had been built strategically to protect whatever had been sealed within the crypts, the inscription was a warning not to forget.

“They made the White Walker from a man they had captured, Bran saw that, but so did Jojen, a long time ago. He used to tell me of his visions, he was trying to convince me to leave with him before father went to war; he felt a sense of urgency to get to Bran. As if, if he didn’t something might happen.” Meera had relaxed a little, and Jorah nodded to encourage her; if she needed to speak of her journey North he would listen.

“Bran told us the Night King touched him, he had a mark. Could that have been what Jojen was trying to prevent?”

“I don’t know.” Meera murmured, but her eyes became guarded.

She left shortly after and left him with more to think about, she hadn’t told him everything she knew, not by a long shot. But he had learned a little more, it would be useful if they could learn more about that first White Walker. Had he been the first Night King? One they had destroyed in the battle for Winterfell? Or did he still hide somewhere far in the North? And what were the motives of the Children of the Forest, if any still lived?

The next morning, he won the argument with his wife and returned to his duties, starting with taking Meera down to the training yard to introduce her properly to the men that would train her. But as he faced the girl a sickening realization slid through him; she stood to his shoulder. There had been another target in the yard a few days ago. And an arrow tracking at a downward angle had taken his shoulder while he was moving; turning towards the girl. It had a nasty tip; it would have gone through her lower.

As Meera tested the weight of a spear he tried to recall the distance, between them when he was hit. That arrow would have gone through her chest, it had pierced through him, through his leathers; she was much smaller. The archer had no reason to want the girl dead, no reason he should even know who she was; but he recalled the mixed reports his men had got from the nearby posts that day.

Jorah returned to his office and penned a note to Sam, explaining what he had learned and bringing up a discussion they’d had not so long ago. They had reason to doubt if the Stark men who went with the boy had gone willingly, now he questioned if an archer from King’s Landing fired that arrow of his own free choice. What forces in this world could control another in such a way?

…

Daenerys took audiences for the morning and was feeling weary by the end of it, though part of that was worry for her husband. Where he was this morning was anyone’s guess, but Jorah preferred it that way, she had little doubt he was keeping any one of the various projects he oversaw in motion. She would get one of her guards to find out later.

But it wasn’t exactly a new thing; she had seen him injured several times before and he never made a fuss over his injuries; it was one of the elements of his title he preferred to ignore. Jorah didn’t care that he was King, his noble birth had taught him the responsibilities and necessary skills for such a title and his temperament was well suited to it; but she did wonder if he found the profile of the title limiting.

Maybe it came from being raised in such a small holding, or his adopted habits from years among the Eastern cultures, Jorah liked to be able to maneuver around on his own. However, while it posed certain challenges, it worked for them, he wanted her to rule; he liked to counsel her and manage their projects. He listened and got behind her ideas in a way she could not see any other man supporting her; but Daenerys knew she could not do it without him.

Seeing him hurt scared her, even if it had only been a flesh wound, Jorah ignored the target the title placed upon his back. Even today, there was a very good chance he was out in the city, with only the pair of Dothraki he usually kept for company; and one arm shoulder weak.

But in the past, he had taken threats that might risk her with great caution, he was responsible for saving her life more than once; yet he didn’t see himself as being just as valuable. He was King, his work and reputation in the capitol important for her reign and the smallfolk; Jorah gave a different face to the title than Westeros had known.

He had knelt at her coronation, giving her the throne instead of taking it himself, and worked tirelessly to implement her reforms, a Westerosi born and raised nobleman who stood against the laws his own kind had long flaunted. Jorah was as vital to winning the masses of Westeros as her army to keeping order. There were many who would see him gone if only to destabilize her; and Jorah had a rather personal history with several lords who were toying with rebellion; he’d kidnapped one to make a gift to her.

“I need a break.” She murmured to Missandei as a lesser lord from the Reach left disappointed; the fines levied for taxing food from his holding would stand. The laws were clear and yet men continued to flaunt them, though some, that one included, came up with creative stories to justify and excuse their actions. “How many wait?”

“Only two more this morning, one seeks a divorce, the Faith of the Seven has refused her.” Missandei murmured, her face revealing that her friend believed that she found this matter upsetting; the Dothraki guard near the foot of the steps muttered something of his own.

Those in her service found the conservative elements of Westerosi culture foolish and backward; divorce in Westeros was difficult. In truth, while the East still practiced slavery in too many areas, free women enjoyed somewhat more rights than many in Westeros. That it was brought before her was interesting and Daenerys nodded for her to come in.

“The second matter?” The open audience had been established in the first days of her rule and were a practice she intended to keep; that her people knew they could come to her and be heard. However, some days were more challenging than others.

“I am not clear Your Grace, the man wishes to speak to you regarding his holding; he said no more.” Missandei murmured as the woman was led in.

The woman introduced herself as the lady of a small holding in the Crownlands, Southeast of the capitol; the seat had been her father’s. Her husband had been a knight of modest means, the marriage arranged by Tywin Lannister; in exchange for waving debts her father owed to the Lannisters. She bore the proof of her husband’s cruelty, and upon that cruelty plead for the dissolution of her marriage, pledging that she would repay the debts if required.

“I do not speak for the faith, I cannot tell you what the gods believe to be right for I have not taken the Faith of the Seven for myself; I was wed in the sight of the Old Gods.” And it was of those her husband had taught her of, though she wasn’t sure either of them could be considered overly religious; not that Daenerys said as much.

“I do not ask you to speak for the Faith, I accept the shame of it, but even with an annulment of my marriage my father’s holding remains in my husband’s hands. He is now Lord of Halloch, and he will rule it as harshly as he has tried to rule me now that my father is dead. It is not a great place, most there are farmers who have suffered greatly already, they do not have much but shall have less under him; and I have known them all my life. Ladies do not often rule in the South, I’ve heard of stories in the North, even in the King’s own house; but…” The woman spoke passionately to something Daenerys understood.

“As it is your seat by birth, I shall support you as Lady of Halloch upon the condition that my edicts and laws are carefully observed within the holding. Those introduced now and all that shall come.” Daenerys ruled, she would not speak to the annulment, though she would look into it. Men had certainly been allowed to put their wives aside as it suited them; certainly, a woman could be free of a man who beat her.

As for the seat of Halloch she would much rather deal with a lady who thought of the people’s suffering than a lord who had managed to make a deal to increase his position; no doubt somehow connected to the Lannisters. Daenerys promised the woman she would look into it, and ordered that she be found accommodation in the Red Keep until it was settled; it wouldn’t do for some misfortune to befall her before it was done.

Missandei slipped away to speak to the staff and have a chamber readied, her friend was a skilled conversationalist and would no doubt draw out a few more details on the matter before she saw her settled. Daenerys waited for the last supplicant only for the guard to return saying the man had disappeared, either tired of waiting or otherwise she was relieved to be done and have an excuse to leave the throne room.

“That was carefully handled Your Grace.” From the shadows Varys had appeared and fell in step beside her. “For the proper amount of coin, the annulment can be simply arranged; I know a Septern who will be sympathetic. However, stripping the man of the title may prove a little more difficult; a low born Lannister is still a Lannister and Halloch may be more valuable than Lady Kalina knows.”

“Why?” She was not in the mood for riddles, and fixed Varys with an annoyed look when the man delayed in answering. However, when he nodded towards a doorway, two men stood to the side, carrying wood for fireplaces and just behind them a maid was trying to slow her pace so as not to get too close she nodded and turned towards the counsel chamber.

When the door was shut with her guards in position Varys continued. “The Lannisters want gold, Halloch is a rocky holding on the sea, bordering the Stormlands. A rough landscape, the farmers raise goats on steep cliffs of a similar composition to Casterly Rock, farming is considered a better life than coal mining, men live longer at it, but coal has been pit mined for years there. It is a hard place to live, facing the same storms that batter the region it borders yearly; Lord Tywin’s interest in it began well before King Robert died. You did not have the experience of knowing him by Tywin Lannister did not forgive debts.”

Daenerys nodded, the information was useful, but she also knew just as well as Varys did Tywin Lannister had died rather unexpectedly. “Did his sons know of the potential value of Halloch?”

“That I do not know, but one would presume they do now, Lord Tywin would have had men managing elements of his household as he was occupied elsewhere. They won’t be keen to see their relation, however distant, removed from it.” Varys voice lilted slightly as it did when he made a point without speaking plainly.

If the marriage was annulled and the lands returned to the Lady of Halloch, along with the gold in them the debts would be paid back while the potential riches were pulled out of their grasp. The information did not make her shy from it, especially not if there was wealth involved, she would rather a rich ally; and she had the means to take it by force.

“Find out if our guest knows anything of the wealth she could gain, and if any gold has been extracted from the region yet.” She sighed, privately hoping the woman was motivated by her people and her right to the holding; but she knew it had to be investigated.

The man nodded and they parted ways, Daenerys escaped to her daughter’s nursery and was glad of Rhainys appetite. Or perhaps just the excuse to cradle her daughter, she was growing constantly and closed her pretty purple eyes as she nursed contentedly. Her little fist opened and closed rhythmically as she suckled and on the hearth, Neveah stirred lazily from her spot in the heat, flames making her scales dance in different shades of purple.

The young hatchling flicked her tail over the coals and settled to rest again, content that Rhainys was not being taken away from her. Right now, Neveah was tiny, but she was a dragon and unconcerned by her size she already had the fierce spirit of the grown dragons; she was going to be a force as she grew. She switched Rhainys to the other breast and rocked slowly in the chair.


	10. Chapter 10

The evening meal was interesting, with two children and a young woman at the table each night there was no shortage of stories. Eva and Fiona told them far more of what Meera was learning than she did, the girls were impressed by the teen’s skill, much as her trainers were. The teenager was more modest, only telling them that she enjoyed her lessons.

Her instructors told him more, the Dothraki liked her, teaching her about different blades and how to ride; he knew it was a different style of fighting. While the Unsullied were teaching her discipline and building her strength, Jorah had seen her drilling in the yard; all were impressed with what she already knew. The girls however were in awe, and their new favorite pastime was to escape those minding them to watch Meera train; at least they weren’t running the corridors of the Red Keep.

Jorah listened to the chatter, letting Daenerys handle the girl’s stories; his wife’s face bright with laughter as she encouraged them. She enjoyed this, with the girls and their own daughter; it was the family she had longed for. He knew as soon as the meal was finished, they would retire to their chambers with their daughter, and Rhainys would only be placed in her cradle when they crawled into bed.

He could not plead innocence, Rhainys had gotten the hang of peekaboo; or her own variation of it. Secure in his arms, little heels digging into his thighs she would press her hands to his face, trying to cover his eyes, he’d shut them obligingly until he felt her hands pull away; it never failed to make her smile and coo. They could pass long stretches with that game while Daenerys bathed or changed. She would curl down into his lap and pull at the buttons of his coat, his shirt’s laces or the soft fur of his collar when she got tired.

She was a solid little thing now; she’d been so delicate when she was first born his hands had always felt just a little too big when he did anything but cradle her close. Perhaps he was just more accustomed to her, or she squirmed enough now he was glad his hand wrapped around her; his one arm was still weak. He held her while Daenerys bathed and when the water had cooled a little, he fumbled with the fastenings of her clothes to pass her over for a bath.

Watching his wife lay her on her knees, Rhainys cooed her delight at being partially submerged, splashing a bit. Daenerys laughed, their daughter’s antics lightening the report she gave, she’d spent the morning taking audiences and he knew some got to her. For once it was useful that Varys liked to lurk during that timeframe, though he’d failed to mention the matter of Halloch until now.

But it predated Daenerys ascension, and was given up willingly, only Varys’ longevity in his role had yielded the detail; and the man had offered it quickly when it was presented. They stood on a different moral code and Jorah struggled to find balance with that man; it would have been worse if he let her wade into it blind.

Still, Jorah had yet to get a clear definition of the realm which Varys claimed to serve above any ruler; had betrayed several previous ones to serve. At first, he had believed it to be a figment of speech the man selected to remain neutral, given he could not give the answer most would; Varys had no kin. But more he began to wonder if it was not the common people, the man took the most interest in the projects meant to aide them, and while the girls did not trust him; he’d not forgotten Varys face the first time they all met Eva.

“Wait for his report before you take action, we’ve enough going on to excuse the delay.” He took Rhainys, wrapped in a thick grey pelt, Daenerys rose from the water a moment later, wrapping herself in a warmed fur and crossing to the fire.

“You’ve spent the last few days in the training yard.” Nearly standing in the coals she began to unpin the braids Missandei had carefully bound away from the water.

“At times.” He sighed, he was keeping an eye on Meera’s training; and the yard. Neveah stirred on the windowsill and screeched at the glass, offering up a small puff of smoke before hopping twice and coasting across to the cradle where she curled up in the foot of it. Jorah delivered the baby to the bed, settling her in.

The feeling of his wife’s small hand pressed to his back and he turned towards her; Daenerys let the fur drop between them. Jorah dipped to kiss her as his hand found her side, sliding over her hip; he could easily end the day like this.

“What is worrying you?” His wife murmured, her hands rubbed his temples and she leaned in, pulling the laces of his shirt and pressing a kiss first to the bandaged shoulder and then to the scarred one.

“Nothing important.” Nothing he was sure of, but he had learned to be cautious; Daenerys nipped at the scar as her palm slid down his body.

For her, he needed little encouragement, knowing what else she wanted and nudged her back as he stepped towards the bed; reaching for the blade on the table. As he opened the scar and eased back onto the bed Daenerys had pushed the waist of his pants apart; she locked her mouth onto the cut and settled fully into his lap. Jorah groaned, kicking free of his breeches, she rolled her hips, sucking the blood from the wound; he rested his hands on her hips, holding her deep where it felt so good.

Her arms locked around his neck and he nuzzled the top of her head as she set her rhythm; it felt good for them both. He knew her body, the familiarity came with being married, but for he preferred it that way. Her body never failed to captivate him, to finish him, but he knew how to help her get there and when she did, he simply pulled her up; stretching out to sleep.

Rhainys let them sleep until the early hours of the morning, waking to feed, Daenerys nursed her and then tucked her into the bed with them to sleep a little longer. But morning came quick enough, and Jorah left his wife at their daughter’s nursery, heading down to the yard.

He had passed on the information Meera had given him, but had yet to hear anymore from Sam or Jon. Still he couldn’t shake a sense of worry for the girl, and she was alone in the Red Keep at their request, so Jorah kept a close eye on her. She might not have told them everything yet, but each day she was here she became more comfortable, sure of this place and of them.

She was with the Dothraki for part of the morning, and Jorah watched them circle the horses, already an excellent archer the men were teaching her to fire from horseback and to learn to maneuver. Today the men flanked her horse, propping her up as the horses trotted; the girl had her feet in loops attached to the shoulder. Meera was loving it, as were the men training her, trying to steady her as she took aim at the target.

The man he was speaking with chuckled as she hit the target, Ser Davos updated him on the slow progress in the city; snow made for more than a few challenges. They would work street by street, but the work would take years to complete; the city had been let go far too long.

Davos knew the city and did well dealing with the work crews struggling forward and civilians who fought the reform; common and noble. It slowed the work, but they continuously fought with squatters who refused to work, refused to change. They’d a few more modest noble families who had once owned homes on mostly empty streets as the other homes were not occupied and neighboring streets were poor; they did not like their new neighbors as the crown repossessed and converted the homes to house as many families as possible.

On that note Jorah wasn’t sympathetic, their goal was to house the population of Kings Landing in this bitter winter; a city that had thousands of homeless for centuries. The nobles annoyed Davos and clogged the Queen’s audiences but would be even less pleased come spring when the streets were dug up to begin laying proper sewers and wells in the poor sections.

“Don’t need them to like me, just to let us work.” Davos muttered.

“Keep working, if they give you trouble send them to me.” He offered the man an out, knowing that keeping the work crews moving forward was enough of a challenge by times.

As the Dothraki finished with Meera, giving the yard over to a unit of Unsullied along with the girl’s next instructors; Davos slid away. Jorah glanced up to the grey sky, wondering if they were in for some snow again this morning; frowning as he noticed a bird circling above the yard.

It made him uneasy and as the unit began to drill Jorah eased around to get closer to where the girl was training, the men were drilling with short spears in a tight formation; Meera was second in, middle row. It was the same situation, there was no risk to her, and his eyes went up to the walls, she should be safe in the formation however she was exposed.

With the horses there had been risk, but she had been moving through the yard unpredictably, now she was a stationary target and yet everything was quiet. Until suddenly a man broke formation, Jorah was close enough to see the shock rolling through the men and as he thrust his spear toward Meera another stepped between them.

But it was a battle of wills and the soldier threw off the man who blocked him, breaking the man’s spear. Jorah shoved forward, drawing his sword, as the man made a second thrust, he grabbed the broadside of the blade and blocked; he knew the spear would break before the steel did.

“Restrain him, don’t harm him!” Jorah ordered, close to the man he saw the man was not fighting on his own instinct; Jorah could see only the whites of his eyes. It made his blood cold, even as he kept the spear hooked on the blade of his sword and he shifted in a grimace; the man was younger and should be stronger.

“Get her out of here!” The man’s comrades were pulling at him and Jorah sagged when the spear finally was wrenched away; it took three men to restrain the man.

Sheathing his sword, he sighed, stepping towards the man, but suddenly a great screech broke the tense murmuring in the yard as Rhaegal swooped low; suddenly the man sagged. Eyes became brown again and the man looked around in confusion, now two great dragons circled above their heads; Jorah glanced to them. What had brought them in from the rocks?

…

Daenerys listened attentively to the reports from the morning, the soldier was sick about what had happened, even flanked by Jorah and Grey Worm; neither man blaming him. The man had apologized a dozen times to Meera who had dismissed it, though she remained pale. “It is not something you could help.”

The girl was not shocked, and neither was Jorah, he was speaking to two of the Dothraki, Daenerys knew they had been the ones training Meera that morning. Something told her husband had been prepared for something like this, though she could see the tension in his face; he was in pain.

She sent the man with Grey Worm, he was not to be punished, she suspected the guilt of it would punish him more than they ever could. It was not his fault, but it gave them an entirely different problem to consider; this was some dark power that was trying to take Meera.

This was not a greenseer spying on them, it was something far more powerful that could control another without any warning. That Meera was a target indicated Bran Stark was somehow involved; but that some force was afraid for what she knew. Would she trust them will all of it now?

Her husband had slipped away, and Daenerys knew where to find him, however she was surprised to find the old midwife with him; he sat at his desk with his shirt unlaced. Closing the door Daenerys silently circled around to see what he had done, the look he gave her said it all; he’d ripped his shoulder open again.

“Chew on this.” The old woman instructed as Ina prepared a needle, handing Jorah an herb of some sort that he obligingly put in his mouth.

The woman began instructing the girl in how to wash and restitch the wound, neither commented on the scarring that crept across his chest; or the fresh mark on his opposite collarbone. Jorah sat steady through it, only the tension in his jaw revealed the pain as the girl carefully closed the wound.

Ina worked carefully under her grandmother’s watchful gaze, Daenerys did not interfere; it was telling that Jorah had sent for them rather than a maester. She had spent a little time with the girl, visiting Rhainys when she could; the girl wanted to learn to be a healer.

“When Yara Greyjoy sails for Oldtown, you may go with her Ina. Jorah or I will send a letter for the Archmaester, instructing that you are to be trained in the arts of healing. Sam and the Dothraki are working there, they will ensure our orders are carried out.” Daenerys told the women as Jorah fastened his shirt over a fresh bandage.

“I would be honored Your Grace.” Ina murmured, unable to hide a look of excitement; she watched the look go between the two women. The old woman looked pleased and squeezed the younger one’s hand.

“We’ll see it done.” Jorah affirmed, pulling himself back up to the desk. “I’ll speak to Yara.”

She nodded and waited for them to pack up their supplies, a pack of herbs was left for Jorah to chew as needed. Alone Daenerys touched his good shoulder and she was a little relieved as he reached to pull her into his lap; glad that he wanted to hold her.

“You were already hurt.” She murmured.

“I was close.” Jorah sighed. “And I needed to see it, to get a sense of what was happening. It wasn’t the man fighting, his body; yes. But Locust is half my age and well trained, he should have dropped the spear and gone for hand to hand; I think whoever was possessing him was fighting. And they don’t know how.”

“What if it had been you? For that matter why hasn’t it been either of us? We spend more time with her than anyone else…”

“We handle the dragons, I think their magic is more powerful, we restrained Locust, but he came back to us when Rhaegal flew overhead, the Dothraki training her also are responsible for feeding the dragons each morning. Whatever is doing this cannot overpower the dragon’s magic.” Jorah’s gaze had sharpened, and she knew what he had been doing while the Unsullied was debriefed and Daenerys considered it.

She spent time each day with her children, her husband came regularly but not every day; except there was Neveah. They both handled the hatchling on a daily basis, picking it up to move it with Rhainys or letting it ride upon their shoulder; Jorah cut up bits of meat to feed it two or three times a day. And for that matter Meera carried her from time to time.

“I’ve given instruction for the dragons to be fed in the yard from now on, if we can keep them closer, we may be able to prevent further attacks. The dragons are used to being around people, and the people should be smart enough to let them alone.” He ran his hand lightly along her back.

“We need to know what Meera saw in the North.” She murmured, afraid that there would be a moment when they were not able to protect her.

“She needs to trust us.” Jorah leaned into her shoulder for a moment and then paused. “But find somewhere private this afternoon, I’ll work here; she might come on her own.”

Daenerys nodded and took his face in her hands so she could kiss him; it was useless to ask him to stay away from any sort of fight. It was in him, if he thought he could make a difference he would be in the middle of it; and she could not change him.

She left him to his work and headed to the nursery, Rhainys would certainly want to nurse; but it was not Meera who found her. Varys looked somewhat uncomfortable as Daenerys settled her daughter at her breast, she could admit she enjoyed having him off balanced; she just hadn’t imagined it could be so easily done.

“I am pleased to inform you that Lady Kalina does not seem to have any awareness of the potential worth of her land; and I say potential worth as the exploratory digs were interrupted by Lord Tywin’s untimely death. Some where conducted, under the instruction of the Lady’s husband of course; but the results seem to have vanished. It is early days of course, my birds from the Westerlands will certainly know more.” Varys told her, his eyes averted, Daenerys nodded; it would take much longer to get word from Casterly Rock. “The reports I have heard of Lady Kalina are kind, her mercy and compassion are praised under harsh circumstances. It does not sound like the previous Lord of Halloch was any kinder than the current.”

“See that the proper payment is offered for the annulment then; we will set things in motion.” She knew the hornets nest it might stir, but she did it with the assurances that the woman she supported did think of her people; harsh men could educate strong women.

Varys was eager to slip away, though he cast a long glance towards Neveah; word of Jorah’s theory must be spreading already. She watched him go, privately hoping the next time that door opened it would be Meera. But the girl didn’t find her, and as they gathered for the evening meal, she posed the silent question to Jorah; he shook his head as the teen came to the table.

The children were chattering as usual, Fiona doing her best to keep talking and avoid bedtime; but Meera’s gaze moved silently between her and Jorah. The girl knew they needed to talk, but before the maids came for Fiona and Eva one of Jorah’s guards entered and crossed quickly to his side. Her husband listened only a moment and nodded, pushing his plate away.

He passed her seat on his way out, leaning down to speak into her ear; his stubble tickled her cheek. “Jon sent a raven.”

She glanced to the girls, debating whether or not she should go, Fiona going quiet kept her in her seat; Meera watched Jorah leave. She finished the meal with the girls and saw them off with their maids before she went to find Jorah.

He was in his office, bent over the desk and as he dipped his quill into the ink, she leaned over his shoulder to read.

_Strange incident here as well, Meera Reed was the target, the girl survived._

_Dragon’s magic seems to be more powerful. Send word i_

“A relief crew found something interesting at the Fist of the First Men, it has been built since the men passed on their way North. It appears there are caves beneath the Fist that were previously concealed in the ice; it has been fully excavated in the week since the last crew passed that way. A corpse was found on a bluff nearby, frozen solid; the size of a child with green skin.” Jorah passed her the message from Jon; his tone revealed his concerns.

“The Children of the Forest still survive then.” She whispered; the description matched what they had been told of.

“I would suspect they are doing the same thing we are, trying to get a handle on what is happening; that was likely the body of one of their scouts.” He leaned back in his chair; she saw the stress in his face. “We need to know what they found; we need to know the history of that war.”

“When we were in the East your father led men beyond the wall to find out what was happening there. As this winter stirred so did this magic.” She rubbed his good shoulder, he had not known of his father’s death until she had exiled him, it was a time they didn’t speak of very often; it saddened them both for several reasons.

“Do you remember Qarth? What you told me of the Warlocks?” He spoke hesitantly, laying his quill aside and waving the page a bit before pressing his deal to it. “There were strange things happening beyond that wall when my father joined, one of the reasons he felt called to join and that was nearly twenty years ago. There has been a slow uptick as the years have gone on; those records are well kept.”

“In winter?” She asked quietly, he shifted papers and Daenerys recognized the handwriting; Sam had sent him a detailed list from the Night’s Watch logbook.

“In winter and summer.”

“That is long before the dragons hatched.” She murmured, knowing he thought of the Warlock’s claims that the dragons had revived their magic.

“Yes. I suppose so.” He said softly, but he did not sound convinced; his hand ran absently along her upper arm.

“Should we send word to Bear Island? Have our men garrisoned there sent to the wall to prepare?” She eyed the small scroll that would be sent back to the wall.

“Maybe. But I don’t think we are going to be able to fight this war with an army.” Her husband rose and took the scroll to his guard.

Jorah’s hand rested on her back as they headed to the nursery to get their daughter, she was considering what he meant; thinking of the war they had fought in the North not so long ago. Hundreds of thousands of wights had been fought off with dragonglass, fire and the resilience of the Northerners. The dead had died a second time, made to ash to ensure their rest as the white walkers that commanded them shattered to nothing.

It was the white walkers who had a goal in mind, and who came up with the strategies, something she hadn’t quite figured out was why of all the ones they saw there were no young ones. The stories of Craster’s keep but also in all their raids, why had they not made more walkers than wights? The wights could not think or fight as the men of ice did, yet wherever possible it seemed that they preferred to kill their opponents.

She opened the door and paused as she saw Meera sitting in the rocking chair, Rhainys tucked in her arms and Neveah balanced upon her knee. The girl looked up at them uneasily as they exchanged a look and Daenerys crossed to take the armchair on the other side of the fire.

“Have they found Bran?” Meera asked quietly.

“No. Not yet.” Jorah answered her. “But I have sent word of what has been happening here.”

“This wasn’t the first time.” The girl admitted softly, guilt in her face. “The archer wasn’t either, it happened in the North too; that is why my father wants me to stay in the South.”

Daenerys sighed, and they waited for the girl to continue, explaining that she had seen the archer’s white eyes; the same as the man who attacked her at home. Her father had sent her south for her own protection, as well as for the protection of their family, it was well known that she had helped Bran Stark; people in the North did not take kindly to that. It was no wonder the girl was hesitant to trust them, she felt pushed from her home and the life she knew.

“We don’t know what force is doing this, but we will do all that we can to keep you safe…” Jorah began, but Meera interrupted.

“It’s Bran.” The sadness in her voice was heartbreaking. “He can get into a person’s head and control their body, but he never learned to fight; and he cannot use their skills. That’s why I am still alive, and two men are dead.”

“Bran is doing this?” Daenerys questioned, her eyes flicking up to her husband’s, seeing his jaw clench. Jon had a team of men North of the wall searching for the boy, believing his brother to be in danger; meanwhile Bran was attempting to kill a teenager.

“What do you know of the Children of the Forest? Jon Stark just found the body of one at the Fist of First Men.” Jorah explained, her husband had a good sense of when to give the girl a gentle hand, she was young and uneasy, and when to give her the information he would give to an adult.

And Meera told them of her experiences beyond the wall, of her brother’s death, the shared vision that Jojen had with Bran of a three eyed raven; and the place where Bran met that being. She described the great heart tree which had sheltered previous Three Eyed Raven for a thousand years and what had happened there. She and Jorah said very little, simply letting her tell it, listening to the insight she added and nodding in affirmation that her brother had not died to serve death.

Whether or not that was true didn’t matter, they had no proof it was, and Meera wanted to believe the best of the brother she had lost. Jojen was in no way responsible for anything that had happened after his death, and he had paid a great price to carry out the mission he felt called to. However, what the girl told them was invaluable, it was no wonder she had become a target.

Finally, Jorah posed one last question. “Where the Children of the Forest protecting the Raven? Or guarding him?”

Meera looked between them for a long moment, clearly trying to follow his line of thought; to remember what she had seen. “He wasn’t restrained in any way, and I don’t think he had a desire to leave.”

Jorah nodded and let her go, Daenerys waited until they were in their own chamber and her husband explained his line of thought. He was wondering if the Children of the Forest served the Raven, protecting him from outside forces or guarded him, keeping him from them. They spent time considering the motives of all other parties in play, man and the Children wanted to survive, but the other motives were unknown.

“You still do not believe we should move the men to the wall?” She questioned again, a little frustrated that Jorah was not moving towards a fight when there was finally one, they needed to wade into.

“More men will not break the magic; they may only add wights to their army should the White Walkers raise another. I don’t think it is an army that will turn the tide in this battle.” Jorah answered after a long moment, his annoyance at the question plain.

“Then we do nothing?” Daenerys would not accept that as an answer, she had vowed to protect the North; swearing to the people there that they would have a Queen who listened to them.

“Its up to you.” And then she saw what was beneath the annoyance; realizing what he didn’t want to say. He was thinking of the dragons.


	11. Chapter 11

Daenerys was taking the dragons North to support Jon in what he believed would be their best chance at ending this once and for all. Jorah didn’t like the idea, but his responsibility was to be honest with her; and advise her accordingly. The dragons’ magic was more powerful than any they had encountered in the East or the West.

And while his wife put on a brave face to her counsel as they made plans, he saw what was going on behind it all; she was afraid. He longed to make it easier, but they could send the whole of the army North and they would still be chasing whispers throughout the frozen land as Jon was, as rangers had been for years.

He understood what she was feeling, Oldtown was not nearly as far as the North; and not nearly as dangerous. For though Daenerys was leaving their daughter behind she was taking two of her children with her into danger; she’d already lost one in beyond the wall. Jorah wished it was something he could do for her.

Instead they made preparations for her to fly North with Drogon and Rhaegal, sending word for Jon to meet her at the mountains in the west; where the Northerners were hoping to find what remained of the Children of the Forest. She would make the trip over three days, from King’s Landing to Riverrun and on to the Wall, a stopover at Winterfell if the weather was bad.

On the walls of the Red Keep Jorah saw his wife off holding her tight for a long moment before loosening his arm so she could press a kiss to their daughter’s head again. Drogon waited, the men had abandoned their posts to give him space to rest, talons gripping the sturdy wall; no doubt he could take a chunk out of it if he wanted to.

“Be safe up there.” He whispered, kissing her cheek once more as she stroked Rhainys’ cheek. “I’ll meet you at the wall.”

“You do the same, I need you.” Her pretty eyes glinted with tears she did not shed. “I love you so much; both of you.”

Jorah nodded and cradled Rhainys as she began to climb Drogon’s wing, the whole of the courtyard watched with him as they took flight, circling the yard before falling in with Rhaegal and soaring North. The counsel wasn’t thrilled with the decision for her to go North, and the compromise was that the men garrisoned at Bear Island would head North to increase the number of soldiers at the wall. Jorah was not planning to wait quietly in the capitol either, he would cross by land and sail up the West coast; he’d sent word to his cousin asking if Rhainys could stay there.

They didn’t know how long they would be in the North, but their daughter would be safe on Bear Island and he would try to support his wife. The matters here would be more complicated, Missandei and Grey Worm would step up to handle most responsibilities, and Jorah was meant to stay at the wall where word could be sent if need be.

Ser Davos would help, and their friends knew who to be cautious of on the counsel, around court; it would have to work. Jorah knew how to pack for the trip, at least for himself; he left his daughter’s to the women who would attend her.

…

The journey North was relatively simple, if lonely, she made two stops on her way to the wall; at Winterfell and Riverrun she was greeted warmly. Riverrun was managing, they were running tight with a large winter village sprawling beyond its gates.

At the evening meal she was updated on their situation and on the camp, she only spent the night and left early in the morning. But at Winterfell conversation centered around the mission North, Sansa feared for both of her brothers, but was not naïve to the mood of her people; things were going to have to be handled carefully if Bran Stark was to be welcomed home again.

Daenerys spent a second lonely night thinking about all of it and expressing the milk her daughter would not get to drink. However, she felt guilty at the idea of wasting it, things in the North were carefully managed but it did not hide how tight they were stretched.

“Are there any nursing babes in the winter village?” She asked the maid that attended her. The young woman nodded shyly, and Daenerys passed the small basin to her. “See that one of the mothers gets this.”

In times of hunger she knew some women would struggle to maintain their milk supplies, but she was lucky, and her daughter would not miss it. Daenerys missed her though, she missed her baby and husband dearly, they were part of the reason that she had not agreed to stop on Bear Island coming North.

It was Jorah’s home, where he had grown up and a place she wanted him to show her; it just didn’t feel right. But Jorah felt safe to leave Rhainys there, feeling she was safer in the North than the South; with her kin. Daenerys loved the idea that her daughter had family, distant relatives who were fierce fighters and would care for her because they had loved her father as lord.

The people of Bear Island might not know the full story of the disgrace Jorah bore, but they had known some parts of the story; and she didn’t know what Lyanna had told them since learning it herself. When all of this was over, they would go there, they would collect their daughter and rest before returning to the South.

Daenerys was looking forward to that, though she said little of it in Winterfell; she didn’t forget Bran Stark’s powers. And keeping the dragons close made her feel safe, she hoped their magic was stronger, that Jorah was right, and their birth had threatened the forces that lurked in the North; forcing them to move.

In the morning she mounted Drogon and they soared North once more until they passed over the wall and continued; searching for where she had promised to meet Jon. She had hoped to find them quickly, the light wouldn’t last long, and she didn’t want to spend the night in flight; she wouldn’t risk landing without finding men who knew this land. And it was as the grey sky became darker that she finally found the trackers’ camp; relieved when she saw Jon approaching the dragons.

“We are glad to see you.” Jon greeted her, dipping his head and shoulders in recognition a moment before he shifted to greet Rhaegal; Jon shared a special connection with her son.

The dragon nuzzled Jon’s hand a moment before taking flight once more, that her children wanted to be in the air told her this camp was not very safe; but she knew they would come back. And she approached the camp of Northerners and free folk with Jon at her side, the Northerners acknowledged her as their lord had; the freefolk did not flinch.

She knew they would not bow, they refused it on principal and given it was an issue Jon had gone round on more than once; she tried to accept that as a custom of their culture. Either way Jon offered her a spot near a fire and eagerly took the hot drink poured out, away from the dragons the cold was piercing.

“We are heading into the mountains, the clans that lived there have legends of a certain peak, once considered sacred and then cursed; we’ve some reports of activity in the mountains already.” Jon told her as others joined them, including Brienne of Tarth and Tormund.

“And the body of the scout you found? The Child of the Forest?” She asked.

“The body of that green witch was burned.” Tormund muttered; she could see the man was uneasy talking about the Children of the Forest.

“But it wasn’t raised as a wight, we’ve been careful to burn our dead but while there have been a few encounters with White Walkers we haven’t had any with the dead.” Brienne added.

“Are they not bothering with the dead anymore? They don’t want an army?” Daenerys mused, trying to listen to the side conversations going on around the fire.

“We don’t know. The White Walkers don’t want to fight us, but best we can tell we are trailing a couple of them into the mountains; the rest have gone North. We’ve a few men following them, nothing new to report; the men belong to a clan that knows the history of that area.” Jon reported, but she knew that; he’d sent a report of that before she left.

She passed the evening listening to the discussion of their mission, and the different opinions of it; a few of the free folk spoke of their legends regarding the region they were heading for. Eventually Jon led her to a tent and helped settle her with hot stones in the furs she burrowed into; she knew morning would come quickly. And it would be weeks before Jorah joined her up here, but she wished he was here to run this through with her.

…

They sailed North on good seas and Jorah took Rhainys up to the rail for a little while each day; ignoring the maids’ protests. Rhainys was blood of the dragon, and every bit a Targaryen princess but she was also a Northerner; an Islander. Had he a different sort of life his daughter would have grown up on fishing boats around Bear Island, learning the trade and learning to fight; instead she was a princess who would soar on dragonback.

But she loved the rocking waves, she gurgled happily as they stood at the rail; her hatchling perched upon his shoulder. She belonged on the water, just as she would belong upon Neveah’s back. When they reached Bear Island Rhainys and her maids were settled into the keep while the Unsullied loaded up. The ship would take the unit and the supplies to the wall, Jorah would handle them there depending on the reports that came in.

“Have any new reports come here?” He asked the captain; they’d been at sea; he suspected any non urgent reports would be waiting for them here.

“Yes, Your Grace.” The man handed over a bundle of scrolls and went to see his men were stocking the ship properly.

He went to see that Rhainys was settled and drop off the young dragon that rode in his furs. As he headed for the gangway he was surprised to find the Unsullied Captain waiting for him. The man didn’t look pleased, and his men stood assembled behind him. Did they have news he didn’t?

Jorah hadn’t had time to go through his reports yet. “What is going on?”

“We found a stowaway Sire, as we were loading the racks for the spears, we had to move the emergency crafts. She was found in…” The man reported, but before he stepped aside Jorah interrupted.

“Meera.” He’d left her in King’s Landing, but as the man stepped aside the girl was there; looking uncomfortable as the Unsullied held her. She didn’t know these men; they’d been garrisoned up here since she had come to the capitol. “With me.”

“I’m sorry.” The girl murmured as she fell in step behind him. “But I…”

“No excuses.” Jorah wasn’t really surprised, but it had been Daenerys wish to protect her and keep her in Kings Landing. “But if you come with me you will follow orders.”

“I will, I can help. I know where Bran went, where he might want to go again.” Meera told him as they cut through the halls.

He only nodded and left her behind at the door to the nursery, he wanted a moment alone with his daughter. Holding her close before he tried to set Neveah on the edge of the cradle, the hatchling hopped back up his arm to nestle into his heavy coat. Rhainys did not seem concerned and Jorah paused a moment more to stroke her cheek before he left; the inquisitive little dragon had to know what staying with him meant.

Returning to the ship he saw that Meera was quartered and fed, the girl was certainly hungry; he returned to his quarters to read the reports he had received. They had made the long part of the journey already; it was a short sprint up to the port nearest the wall; and a day’s journey from there to the wall. Jorah had a bit to catch up on before they got there.

Jon had sent reports to Bear Island for him, confirming Daenerys had arrived safely and they were continuing to the mountains that bordered the Bay of Seals, it was in these mountains that the wall ended, Bear Island was in the southern edge of the bay. It was the mountains that the free folk feared, living in the foothills and the southern peaks; Jon was asking the scouts to lead him deep into land long considered cursed. Thick forest and steep peaks, he knew what they were searching for; and he hoped Jon recognized the fears that the men with him were facing.

The Land of Always Winter was bitter and harsh, a region even those Northern clans feared and avoided though it would be rich in resources would have history. But in that terrain the dragons would be at a disadvantage, the peaks and forest would provide cover and make it difficult for the dragons to see what was below them.

But as he read more of the reports, he realized most of Jon’s crew was freefolk, he’d sent the Northern members with some trackers deeper into the North to seek out the White Walkers. The majority of his ground crew knew their own legends and the history that Sam had uncovered about the origins of their fears, they were being sent to face them and he feared what the young warden would be dealing with; especially when he found a note from his wife. He wasn’t going to be staying at the wall.

The young dragon stretched, she had climbed from his shoulder to curl about the lamp, preferring the warmth, Neveah let out a small squeak and scented the air; she was hungry and so was he. Jorah headed down to the mess to find some food, the purple dragon would have to settle for fish. He was curious that she had chosen to stay with him, usually she became agitated any time Rhainys was out of her sight.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the long wait on updates, I promise I will finish my stories... eventually.  
> Thanks to anyone who sticks with me.

The dragons seemed particularly irritable and Daenerys was not sure whether it was the cold or their sense of this place’s magic; she was struggling to settle herself. But the men in the camp weren’t happy either, and each day they grew closer to the source of their fear and agitation. Conversation in the camp at night focused on the legends, on whether or not this was the right way to fight; unsure who or what they would face.

Perhaps she felt a little safer being above it all on Drogon’s back, however she had not forgotten what happened to Viserion. The dangers here were real in the air and on the ground, as the weather was turned everyone on edge; they knew what might be coming with the storm.

When she landed after another day of flying above the scouts Jon was in a heated discussion with the freefolk. As voices rose Daenerys approached and glanced to the tall female warrior who listened to the exchange. “What’s wrong?”

“Most of the clans from this region left with Mance Rayder years ago, the scouts ahead of us came to one of their old villages today; they are afraid to go on. Tormund and Jon are trying to convince them that we must Your Grace.” Brienne informed her.

“Has anyone gone to see what has scared them?” The free folk were not easily scared, they knew this land and they knew the risks they faced.

The woman shook her head and Daenerys eased forward, men moved aside for her until she stood behind Jon and Tormund; a soft cough had the men turning to her. Daenerys asked her question again and the men fell silent.

“Its too late now.” Jon sighed. “And its too late for any of you to break camp tonight.”

“Stay the night, in the morning we will all go to look at the old camp.” Daenerys instructed, she wanted to make peace for the night, but tensions were high; she was not sure she could pacify them.

And camp was quieter that night, the dispute between the clans had everyone drawing back towards the people they knew best. Daenerys sat with Jon for a time but felt uneasy, retreating to her tent to lay on her bed roll and listen for the beat of leather wings; knowing her children were close was reassuring.

But morning came slowly, more than once she heard the sounds of a fight somewhere in the camp and wondered how many men would be out there come morning. She tried to imagine what the men had found, and who had done it, was it the Children or the White Walkers?

At dawn Daenerys joined the team that would be going to see what the scouts had found, the members of one clan remained in camp. It was Tormund and one of his friends that led the way, even the great redhead seemed quiet this morning; and their horses were skittish.

The forest became thick and she noticed marks on the trunks of many trees they wove deeper into the wood; snow in the night had filled the scouts’ tracks. But they began to see more carvings in the trees, Daenerys felt a chill run through her as they passed a trunk carved perfectly into a man, as though he stood on guard.

They passed several more before she could see the outline of cabins through the trees; but they looked strange. Several of the men dismounted and entered first, walking through it before nodding for her to approach; Brienne stayed at her side.

Webs of ice had engulfed all of the huts, weaving through doors, between logs and up over roofs, creeping across the ground to the next home and out to the trees that encircled the village. It was unnerving, certainly it would be more so for those who had once lived here. But this wouldn’t turn back hardened warriors from their purpose.

“You better come take a look at this.” Tormund called from the far edge of the clearing.

And Daenerys joined the group following his voice, stepping from snow onto slick ice and felt the cold rush into her in a strange way. Here the carved trees were shrouded in thick, clear ice in a way she had never seen, creating a slippery path.

They stopped short, two more trees, with men carved into the trunks and strange symbols on the branches, encased in ice, but the ice spanned between the upper branches in a sickening arch. The bodies of at least a dozen men and women had been frozen into the arch, but they bore no wounds, many had mouths open in eternal screams.

“Were they frozen alive?” Someone else voiced the fear that had crept into her mind.

There was no answer, but Daenerys could not bring herself to walk beneath it, and heard the calls as men found more, she followed them deeper and periodically they found more, but the further they went the carvings in the trees were all encased in thick ice; the ground was long buried.

“How far does this go?” She asked quietly, there was more the farther that they went, and Daenerys felt cold in a way she never had before.

“I don’t know.” Her nephew responded slowly; his eyes roamed the forest around them. “I imagine this would be far more intimidating for men who have seen the carvings and symbols before.”

She only nodded, it was intimidating now, and she did not know the history of these marks or this place. Yet the men with them had fanned out through the forest and there didn’t seem to be a way to go around it as they went deeper into the foothills.

“These woods have always been haunted.” Tormund grumbled, joining them from the far-right wing. “Without the clans here they’ve taken over.”

“We need to know what is haunting these hills.” Daenerys stated as a fact, but she knew the challenge she was posing to the free folk.

“Burn it out and they’ll come.” The huge man muttered, even he was clearly uneasy here.

But that was not an option, and in the end, it took the rest of the day convincing the men to follow and the promise that she would mount Drogon. She sent word to the wall, hoping Jorah would find it there.

…

The dragons in the distance had guided them and as Jorah led the unit of Unsullied through the deep forest, he heard battle cries and instructed the men with him to tighten their formation. A part of him wished he was with the Dothraki, riding would be much easier in this deep cold; even if the terrain wouldn’t allow them to move any faster.

He had arrived at the wall to find a message from Daenerys, and he sensed her concerns in the words she wrote, feeling alarmed himself at the sights she described. Either way she was with a divided crew, it took a lot to scare the free folk, and if they had been coaxed into going into the woods it was not a good situation.

So, he led the Unsullied into the Lands of Always Winter to add their number as reinforcements. They’d marched days without seeing any signs of the other force, but on a hill, in relatively clear skies they’d seen the dragons soaring in the distance, deep in the foothills of the mountains. It had given them a certain course and they went deeper into the trees, as they climbed the hills, they got occasional glimpses of the dragons, closing the distance each hour.

Suddenly there was movement in the trees ahead of them, he caught a glimpse of a creature before it darted for cover. Jorah frowned, startled at what he had just seen. The creature would have hardly stood to his chest, bound in vines and leaves rather than furs it was a miracle it was not already frozen. Given the movement he could pick out ahead, there was about a dozen and the approaching war cries told him they were trapped.

“That was one of them.” Meera exclaimed beside him, he’d decided to bring her rather than chain her up at the wall or risk her trying to follow them on her own. The girl kept up well and did not seem phased by the conditions.

He suspected the creatures were running scared from Jon’s men and it sounded like those men were hunting, not tracking. Suddenly a tiny one burst through the trees, a green arm reached of for it as spears around him lowered.

Jorah was faster and got a hand on the little thing’s arm before it could be pulled back, hauling it up. Though he was careful to contain it so it could not touch his skin; he’d too many questions to take such a risk. But his action brought two out of hiding and he watched as balls of vine in their hands became flame.

“Throw those and I cannot protect you. Drop them, shelter behind our shields and I will keep you safe.” He made an instinctive decision, he held one of their young, these people were running for their lives; they hadn’t moved to attack until he took a child. He wanted to at least hear what they had to say.

“Only the dragon magic could save us. Perhaps they will save you, but they have always persecuted us and our magic.” The male spoke, his voice grave.

“My wife is the dragon Queen, and the men chasing you will yield to me. My ancestors were the first men, they had a peace with you and followed the old gods; I follow the same faith. Let me renew that pact.” Jorah entreated them, they could hear boots in the snow and Neveah chose that moment to poke her head from his furs.

Perhaps it was the sound of the men chasing them, or the sight of a hatchling but the first came forward hesitantly and others followed; the Unsullied shifted to a box formation and closed their shields around the surviving Children of the Forest.

Jorah released the child and took a few steps forward, letting the unit close the formation a moment before the first of the free folk burst through the trees and pulled up short: unsure of their presence. The small dragon screeched from his shoulder, hearing the leather wings of Drogon and Rhaegal overhead.

“Where are they?” Tormund demanded, shouldering his way to the front; the red-haired wildling was breathing hard.

“They are here, they are under my protection.” Jorah answered, knowing the men were looking for a fight; silent commands kept the Unsullied shields locked together.

“Under your protection? You haven’t seen what they’ve done. They made these creatures, all of it; now and in the days of the ancestors they did it all.” The towering warrior roared, his men with him and Jorah took a step forward.

“Is man not divided? Do you not come from different clans? Have you not made war on each other, upon my own kin? You have known the price of being painted with that brush. We cannot continue as we have in the past.” Jorah raised his voice, privately hoping he could make them listen. He’d no desire to pit their forces against each other but understood the desire to fight in the men they faced. “No one here will harm them.”

Tormund bristled but held his ground, and as Jorah strode up a man moved to take his place; fully enclosing their captives. He stopped only a pace from the warrior, sensing his rage was still high, but others around him were lowering their weapons.

“Show us the way to camp, and we will hear what they have to say. But we are stronger standing together, to win this war we must stand together.” Above he heard the screech of his wife’s dragons, camp was best, this was a discussion that should be private as there were likely details that would anger many.

…

She struggled to track their force through the cover of the trees, but saw them halt and turn back, their pace easy. Daenerys urged Drogon to bank, Rhaegal also turning away with Jon upon his back, knowing they would return to camp now. And the dragons covered the distance much faster, upon solid ground again she gave orders for those who remained in camp to stir the fires and prepare food for the warriors returning.

“They did not fight, they ran.” Jon mused, her warden ill at ease as they waited.

It was valuable to have two dragon riders in a fight, but she knew Jon Stark found it hard to be above the fight rather than in it with his men; especially when they could not see clearly. They waited at the edge of camp, watching for their men to emerge from the trees.

But as men emerged from the forest Daenerys swallowed hard, recognizing the Unsullied uniforms and as they drew nearer her husband’s armor. She took a small step forward, catching herself, knowing that she must wait; no matter how much she wanted to see Jorah.

She saw Jon’s surprise as beside her husband the Unsullied Captain gave the order for the men to part, revealing that inside their formation a group of people walked, standing no higher than any of the men’s bellies. Some of them carried little ones in their arms, all looked fearful, but as the force broke apart to their various areas of camp.

“Come.” Her husband spoke to the Children of the Forest, he closed the distance between them and took her hand; she saw the small purple head poking from his furs. “My wife, Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of Westeros and Dragon’s Bay. In her name I have offered you protection, you are safe here.”

“None of us are truly safe.” One of the men murmured, his voice sounded hollow.

“Then I must ask that you tell me what you know of it.” She replied calmly, though she did not give back her husband’s hand.

She would not get time alone with him yet, but she was glad to see him; to have him at her side again. They entered the tent to a warm fire and before more seating could be arranged their guests began to sit upon the furs covering the snow. Her husband nudged her towards a chair and took his spot at her shoulder. Daenerys snuck a glance back at him, silently asking him to take the lead as a girl crept through the flap to stand in the back.

“I am Jorah Mormont of Bear Island; I know the legends of the Children of the Forest and the Lands of Always Winter. I have learned some of the recorded histories as men saw it. This is your chance to tell us your account of it.” Her husband spoke calmly as the Children of the Forest sat, pulling their young into their laps; Daenerys felt conflicted. “You will face no judgement here.”

She looked up to see Jon standing in the back with Meera, and then to the faces of these people, some here might be warriors; many had fought against them. But they could not be blamed for that, not as they sat here with their children in their arms.

They had fought to protect their homes, and their children when they had no way of knowing why her force had sought them out, fought when they felt threatened. She knew how the free folk spoke of them, calling them green witches with venom in their voices; it hid their fear.

“You ask for a history that would take many days to recount, let me tell you of what you want to know. Of the white walkers.” One spoke, sitting directly before them. “I am Flynt, I remember the wars of your ancestors, we had long known the prophesies of them; but nothing compared to the devastation they brought. And yet the foe we face today was born in those early days, they hate us all; all who live.”

“We were locked in a war we could not win, and yet it was the champion meant to save our people who drove us to a truce with your ancestors. We fought with the first men against a common enemy, who turned flesh to ice and enslaved the dead; but they were not the first.”

“What do you mean they were not the first?” Jon cut in, and she saw Jorah shoot a frustrated look to their warden.

“Our clans gathered to forge the champion we believed would save us, but the method was not born of need; it was something else. Long before the wars, there were some who were curious about the new men, larger than us and still small next to the great giants.” The man told them, pausing to glance to the small one that reached out for him.

And then continued, telling them of how their people had lived through all the lands full of great weir wood trees and towering forests, they lived in small family groups. Gathering in clans of distant kin for rituals around their sacred trees, journeying to their elders on the Isle of Faces to seek guidance as more men came, as their forests were cut down and their people died.

“They did not hunt us at first, but our warriors fought back, we fought with our magic; but their weapons were a different form of magic.” The man told them, and she glanced back to Jorah, seeing the muscle in his jaw twitching slightly, this was different than the legends he had told her; proof of the old adage that there were two sides to every story.

Jon however was having a more difficult time listening to it, she knew the feeling; it was hard to hear of cruel acts committed by kin. But in this at least, fear was at the root, not cruelty, perhaps for her nephew it was doubly hard. Though he claimed the first men of his mother’s heritage, and was hearing an account of those ancestors, on the other side he shared the blood of house Targaryen; and those crimes were not so far in the past.

It had taken a war for life itself to make peace between these people and their ancestors. A similar plight they faced today, only the Children of the Forest were not scraping through legends for clues; some of them had survived that war. Flynt explained that their people survived for thousands of years, strengthened by the roots of the weir wood trees they lived among.

A contingent of their warriors had used their magic to keep the previous Three Eyed Raven alive for a thousand years beneath a great weir wood in the far North. For the Three Eyed Raven was possessed of a magic Flynt called weak and left the man vulnerable to the white walker’s magic. And deep in the forest this clan had carved their secret life, agreeing with the first men to live beyond the wall where their magic survived.

Daenerys only sighed, was it better that they had chosen upon which side of the wall to live? No one could have known how the people of Westeros would come to view the wall and those who lived beyond it, the old alliance becoming stories for the children of Westeros.

“But the foe we face today was made long before that, and it fights for a far deeper purpose, one that drives you and me.” Flynt told them quietly. “Your Night King, the champion who betrayed us, was only a commander who served and sacrificed to the first White Walker and his Queen. The true Night King, like our champion, was forged to hate man and the living, only he desires something else; he desires a new race. One of ice, to destroy the family that cast him aside.”


	13. Chapter 13

He saw the subtle signs of stress within the community as they reached to comfort their leader, trying to reassure the young ones. And Jorah cleared his throat as the man paused again, clearly struggling with this story; he spoke up.

“Perhaps we should take a break, it has been a trying day for your children. We will find you a place to rest within the camp.” He rubbed his wife’s shoulder; it would be good to have some time with her. “We will make you a place within the Unsullied tents, they are the men who stood with me today.”

There were eager nods from those holding young ones and as they rose, he crossed to speak to the Captain standing guard; beyond the flap stood Tormund as well. The Captain gave quick instructions to some of his men and as the Children of the Forest filed out of the tent they were led into the camp; but Flynt remained.

“I will finish it. These stories are fact to a few of us, we were but babes in the days before that war, but to our children the stories are terrifying. And they have known too much fear already.” The man stayed, Jorah had judged him to be a leader but as he eyed the browning of the leaves and moss the man wore and the lines upon his skin, he realized Flynt was far from a child.

“If we are getting to the heart of the matter, we will all sit together.” Daenerys murmured, beckoning Tormund in; a long look went between the elder of the Children and the free folks’ unspoken chief. As they moved to the table and took seats Jon and Meera joined them as well.

“The magic of the white walkers was so ancient that before the long night the spells were believed to be that of legend. It was a young woman who tested them, she, she was my sister; elder by ten seasons. We lived in the most sacred part of the forest, the place that served as the gateway to the Isle of Faces, the men who came feared the place and believed it haunted and so even as the war began, we were relatively safe. But then a man came and built a cabin at the edge of our wood.”

“His name was Guthrie Stark, one of the twin sons of a great clan to the south of us. But it was his brother who was favored to claim the father’s place, a crime of some sort had seen Guthrie expelled from his father’s lands; and so, he ventured to a place that man feared. I do believe his intention to live in peace was pure, but we were curious of him; we spent many a day watching him in the forests.”

“Eventually my sister Cionna, met him face to face, and they fell in love. Our clan was fearful of what such a union would bring, our magic bound to that of these men, Cionna angered at the way we dealt with the men who hunted us, she chose to leave. She moved into that cabin and hurled her magic at any of us who came to her clearing. In that age men had certain magic of their own, some as powerful as ours, and over the centuries some, in unions like that of Cionna and Guthrie, were blended with ours.”

“The war was coming, and even the legends of our wood could not protect us, but Guthrie knew how to wield the weapons of man, and it was men of his own clan who came to threaten us. He was a fierce warrior and fought bravely to protect Cionna even as we struggled to protect our own. But before their first child was born, he was badly wounded.”

“Meant to serve in our sacred place as generations of our kin had, Cionna was possessed of great magic and had studied all the ancient ways; she knew of ancient legends that told of spells which turned flesh to ice for eternity. And believing it was the only way to save him, great with child she made the deadly journey south to obtain the glass she needed.” Flynt paused, and he sensed the tension in the room.

“By the time she returned, the man she loved had died, she breathed her own magic into him and plunged the glass into his body; his flesh turned to ice as life was restored to him. The first thing he did was reach for her; condemning them both to the same fate.”

Jorah shifted uneasily, so the spells could cross races, and the first pair was bonded together. If the Children of the Forest had powerful magic, it stood to reason that Cionna still possessed that magic; likely the reason the white walker the clans had made submitted.

“Soon after they fled the wood, leaving for the barren lands of ice; but not before their child was born. And somehow, by some great magic her flesh was pale, soft, and warm no matter the touch of her parent’s icy hands. They named her Lyanna.” Flynt murmured, around the table he saw the reaction ripple through each of them, feeling his own gut clench.

“The clans, having gathered in the wood to defend our sacred place suddenly faced a new threat. That magic changed something within them, it sapped the good from them, they came to hate us and man alike. Soon after they disappeared farther into the North, no longer seeking strength from the great weir woods as we did, they perverted it, as the ice had their flesh; and the most terrible winter we even knew set in. The winter that lasted generations.”

“But, every so often they would reappear, attacking the villages of man or our clans, and our elders decided we must find a way to fight them in the same manor. They used similar magic to what Cionna used, obtaining the glass, but they used a living man believing he would be stronger. And he was strong, for a short time he did help us, but then Guthrie ventured south again, and we immediately realized he had some sort of hold over our champion; they fought together. Cionna had found even greater ways to use her magic, creatining creatures of ice and raising the dead for her husband’s army. And we were forced to make peace with man, to fight together to hope to survive. But our magic was never enough, nor was that of man.”

“It was Lyanna’s.” Jon whispered.

“It was, her heart pumped blood through living flesh and her mind was free, she grew to oppose the absolute hatred her family felt for the living; feeling she could not belong among them. They changed many into their form by touching them, those they touched turned to ice, but they had dominion over all of the dead. Lyanna belonged to the living and left one day, arriving at the walls of her father’s kin. A young woman, she was broken when she learned all of what her parents had done, to their own people and she vowed to join our war; but we did not know her true power then.”

“We battled with magic; armies carried weapons made of black glass, they came with vengeance; Guthrie wanted his daughter back. He wanted revenge upon men who chose his brother over him, who his daughter chose over him. But what we did not know then, we did not learn of it until a powerful seer came to us for shelter, was that Cionna had found a way to open her womb; though the children she bore were all made of ice. Guthrie stood at our old champion’s side, but he had none of his daughter’s understanding, he hated all who lived. And when a great hero faced him with a powerful weapon it was Lyanna who ended the war; capturing her father at the cost of her own life.”

“Grieving the loss of her daughter Cionna and her children retreated deep into the ice again and as the snow began to melt all the peoples of the North united to build the great wall, but laid into the foundation was powerful magic, written in the blood of a hero her own people forgot.”

There was silence in the tent for a long moment, and after a few moments the elder of the Children pushed himself off his chair and left; murmuring that they could speak of it again in the morning. The rest of them sat together for a few more moments, and after a time Jorah stood, crossing to the trunk and rummaging until he found parchment and ink; intending to record the elder’s words while they were fresh in his mind.

“So, the legend of Azor Ahai is false then?” Jon murmured.

“I am not sure, he mentions a great weapon, and a hero; but I think we can be sure there is far more to the story.” Daenerys replied, her voice hollow and he knew her mind was circling the matter as well.

The meeting broke up, he suspected Tormund and Jon were going to discuss this for some time into the night. At least the giant redhead no longer seemed as eager to kill their new guests. The only one who did not move was Meera, the girl sat at the table, eyes focused on her hands.

He watched as Daenerys circled to rub her shoulder, it was hard to guess what the girl was feeling right now. He stood in the background as the girl tried to work through whatever she was thinking about.

“Bran never said any of that. What if he doesn’t know? When we were in the weir wood Bran went under without the Raven, he saw a lot but then they found us. The Raven hadn’t taught him as much as he wanted to, but he said Bran was the Three Eyed Raven…” The girl murmured, her eyes finally rising, looking between him and Daenerys. “I took him to a great weir wood so he could see more; but what if he didn’t see everything? What do they want from him?”

“I don’t know, but we are going to find him, and we will do everything we can to find out the truth of the past.” Daenerys promised her. “Making an alliance with the Children of the Forest is a good way to learn the past, their living memory is much longer than ours. We only have legends from those days, but with the information they tell us we may be able to find some facts, in old records; in our own legends.”

“Go and get some rest Meera, we will discuss this more tomorrow and you are welcome to be there when we do.” Jorah murmured, the girl had been part of a long march and a long meeting afterwards. It was a lot of information for all of them, especially with Meera’s personal connection. “Take the night and think about the answers you need. I do believe Flynt wants to work with us, you saw their fear when they met us; these people have been hiding from this longer than we’ve even been aware of the threat.”

Meera nodded and slipped away, finally he was alone with his wife and Daenerys reached out for him. He took her hand, intending to pull her close, but she shifted away, drawing him though the flap and across to a second, smaller tent.

Brienne of Tarth shifted to take a guard position outside that tent, but as the flap closed Daenerys melded into his arms. He folded his arms around her, he had missed her and worried about her with everything going it felt so good to have her close again. Jorah shifted, intending to kiss her, but as he did Nevaeh poked her head from the furs on his shoulder and screeched.

“She must be hungry.” Daenerys murmured, they both laughed as the little dragon stuck its head between them and his wife stroked the scales of her neck. “Why didn’t she stay with Rhainys? How is Rhainys? I miss her so much.”

“She is well and safe; with her maids and settled on Bear Island. When I went to leave, Neveah stayed with me.” He explained, though he transferred the dragon to the bed so he could greet his wife properly.

…

Morning came early, but Daenerys was reluctant to crawl from the bed; her husband’s arms were around her though she knew he was awake too. At the foot of their bed the little purple dragon chattered contentedly; gnawing on a charred bone scavenged from the cook fire last night.

“My milk has all but dried up.” She murmured sadly.

“She is taking broth, and cows’ milk when she feels like it, whether you have milk or not I am sure she will be content to be in your arms again.” Jorah murmured, his hand sliding along her side.

“I hate being away from her, I hate missing those moments with her.” Daenerys mourned, the moments were special and could not be regained.

“Then we best end this as quickly as possible and go home.” He sighed, kissing her cheek before he pushed back the furs and shifted to sit. “I’m going to walk through the camp, make sure all our various friends kept the peace through the night. I know some of the Unsullied planned to stand guard in case the free folk got worked up; it’s hard to undo old rivalries.”

She nodded quietly, and watched as he dressed, strapping on his sword belt last; guiltily snuggling into the warm spot he’d left. It had been the first truly good night of sleep she’d had in some time; she was used to curling about his frame and feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. Neveah crawled up the bed to chatter at her and Daenerys welcomed the small dragon into the furs as well.

They had much to discuss today, they needed to speak to Flynt again and the free folk who were unsettled by the Children’s presence here; today they wouldn’t be moving camp. She rose and dressed in her warm coat, preparing herself to step out into the cold once more, and lifted the young dragon onto her shoulder where it promptly burrowed itself into the shoulder of her coat.

Around various fires men shared the morning meal, as she spotted Jorah, speaking with Flynt and Tormund or partially standing between them, Brienne brought her some food. Daenerys crossed to find out what was going on between the free man and the elder.

As she approached, Jorah nodded to her, drawing the attention of both his companions and spoke softly. “Lets take this inside.”

The group moved and by the time they had settled at the table Meera had joined them as well; she wasn’t sure where Jon was this morning. Tormund chose to pull his seat back from the table, the man seemed truly unnerved by the Children of the Forest; all the free folk did.

“We were back on the topic of responsibility for the White Walkers.” Jorah had informed her as they found their seats. “The free folk know of a place, the Isle of Faces; the route to it has been impassible for generations. It is said that ice slides from the mountains have destroyed the forest there and sea ice blocked the mouth of the bay.”

“What is the Isle of Faces?” Daenerys asked the elder bluntly, Jorah seemed to have some idea of it; and Tormund clearly did.

“It is where our magic is the strongest, but it has been lost to us for many years. You’ve been told it has been many generations since the white walkers plagued us, but in truth they have ventured out every winter; they simply did not have the strength to go as far as the wall. We were united in our magic, short winters and long summers held them at bay; and upon the wall we all helped to build man stood as the final defense. But time wore on and man forgot, those who snuck beyond the wall to live, the giants who lived on the far shores; and those who stood upon it.” Flynt told them; his voice soft as they listened to his tale.

“Your magic, it can hold them off?” Jorah questioned.

“Perhaps. In the past it could, it could not destroy them, but we have lost our scared places; our weir woods are fewer than they have ever been, and each one destroyed breaks the chain. But the dragons’ magic is more powerful than any other; forged of the foundations of the earth…”

“No. If you can find them, the dragons will help us to destroy them; but they are my children and I have lost one already.” Daenerys refused flatly.

“We have to consider Bran, and Arya, my information that she is up here somewhere; the Starks have lost too much already. We must assume he is alive until we know otherwise.” Jorah cautioned, though she saw the tick in his jaw; and the way Flynt looked to the table. Her husband had seen the dragons work many times before, an attack from the sky left Bran Stark little chance.

Still it seemed the option that risked as few of their men as possible, every day they were up here they were vulnerable to their enemy and the elements. It was only a matter of time before a strong winter storm blew up, especially as they closed on the white walkers who Jon claimed could stir them up.

The discussion of strategy bounced around the table, Tormund knew these lands, and he laid out the challenges of covering so much ground with a force; going deeper into the mountains than the free folk had ever lived. There came a point in the ice and snow where it became too difficult for any to survive, but even getting their forces to that point would be difficult, and then it became a vast and hostile search grid.

Eventually the meeting broke up, they would hold here a few more days, waiting for their scout teams to report in; giving Jon time to address the reports that his sister had been sighted heading this way. Word had come in the night, the rotation watching the Fist had changed, bringing news with them; but Arya and should have been days ahead.

Jon would need time to search and return, it gave them a little time to process the information Flynt had offered. They knew only a little of the Children’s story, but they had a few more facts; they knew why the white walkers had attacked Winterfell. If Lyanna had defeated her father, capturing him, her grave and those of her closest kin had likely guarded him; those with the strongest ties to her blood. He had been the creature breaking through the wall; the warrior Jon had fought.

The white walkers wanted their king back, they had raised the dead to see it done, risking very few of their own. That had failed, if it was Guthrie imprisoned in the crypts he had been destroyed, but his people remained; and their war was not over.

Flynt was the last to rise, and he started to leave, but then turned back, his gaze on her. “Do you understand your magic Daenerys Targaryen?”

Her husband stepped quickly to her side; she felt the tension in him just as it crept up her spine. The elder had brought up the dragon’s magic before, but he also brought up his with ease. She knew it was magic that bound her to the dragons, that tormented her dreams, and the curse of the witch.

“Do you know why a storm heralded your birth? Why one heralded your child’s?” The man did not move towards them, instead he took a seat at the table again. “You were born of dragon’s blood.”

“All Targaryens are, my ancestors are of Old Valyria, they conquered Westeros on dragonback….”

“Theirs was a darker bond, forged in the magic of death; even in height Valyria only one child in a thousand was born with true magic. With the dragon’s magic. Until the war it was true of us as well, but it was those of us with the magic of the land who survived. Magic is a funny thing, it does not always pass from parent to child, it may lay silent for many generations; but it will reveal itself.” Flynt explained quietly.

“By storms?” Jorah asked, his hand did not leave her shoulder and his tone had become guarded.

“When a dragon is born, yes, the whole of the earth announces it for dragon’s magic is most powerful; it binds magic to this world. There are many sorts of magic in the world, some are little more than illusions of man, some are pure evil, but true magic is both great power, and a heavy burden. However, you have experienced that.” Flynt told them, but at their silence he frowned. “Has no one taught you of your magic?”

She was silent, Jorah did not need to tell her to be cautious of someone volunteering to tell her of magic; she had learned that the hard way. Yet there was a draw to the idea of someone with facts about magic. There were many questions she had no answers for.

“The dragons destroyed Valyria, including their own kind when their men turned to the magic of death, but they did not shatter the bond entirely; for scattered through the world dragons remained through the ages as eggs even as the living ones were stripped of their power by the death in which they lived.” Flynt’s voice lilted as he spoke, and she felt that edge of excitement curl in her belly. 

“Are the laws of your magic recorded somewhere? The histories of your people?”

“They are recorded, but not upon paper, we rely upon a living memory; one all of our seers can access. Our weir woods hold our history, the ancient roots reach into the foundations of time and a seer can walk among the memories.” Flynt told them.

“Bran Stark claims to be able to see into the past through the weir wood? Does he possess the same magic as you?” Jorah questioned, Meera had told them how touching the weir wood trees had affected the boy.

“Lyanna was my sister’s daughter, when she returned to her father’s people she married; elements of our magic were passed through her into the line of man. But those who have been touched have faced a difficult life as Cionna seeks to steal power from them, mixing the magic of the earth with that of death. The last spent centuries with us, for in man the power is different and Cionna will stop at nothing to use it.” The man answered quickly.

That did not bode well for Bran, he was almost certainly in the hands of the white walkers, and at Cionna’s mercy. The man seemed hesitant to explain how his sister used the seers they captured; he’d said she had once used them to open her womb. But if that was her goal why take the children offered by the free folk for generations?

“Meera says the last was protected by some of your people…”

“He was, and he had begun to teach the boy how to use his gift. But the boy stepped into Cionna’s trap, and her commander marked him; and tracked them. We were unable to move them to the Isle of Faces as Cionna has long targeted our stronghold. If we were able to reach the Isle, join our magic; we might survive this.”

Jorah nodded and as the elder finally left he shifted to sit beside her; she knew he would be wary of that idea. But the fact he did not argue meant he understood the value of the idea; they knew the dragons would be crucial to ending this. The Night’s Watch, the free folk and the Children had spent centuries wandering these lands and had not managed to stumble into the white walker’s camp; or had not survived to tell the tale.

She had no intention of spending years wandering around this frozen land, or leaving men here to lose their lives doing it in her name; nor leaving the problem for their daughter or grandchildren to face. And she knew every day they remained up here there were certain to be whispers and ideas gaining strength among her enemies down south.

“Tell me what you know of the Isle of Faces?” He’d told her so many legends of his home, of Westeros in the years since they met; he knew something of the place.

…

Uneasily he agreed with her, they must investigate the claim that taking the dragons to the Isle of Faces might help in some way; but he was not sure he saw the direct route of how. Still he recognized the longing in Daenerys to go, his gut told him she needed to. And though he listened cautiously for any inconsistencies or tricks Jorah did believe Flynt to be sincere as he spoke of magic.

Daenerys had been hurt deeply by the magic of others in the past, but her magic was powerful, and she’d had no one to teach her of it, though she did not seem to want to admit that. He left her to speak with the free folk, putting the notion to them that they would seek the Isle of Faces with the elder while camp held here to wait for Jon; Rhaegal would remain here as well as a reassurance.

But Jorah went to find Flynt among the Unsullied tents, to tell him of the decision and to ask some of his own questions about this place. What he knew was legend, how much truth there was in that was questionable. Jorah pulled back the tent flap to see Flynt sitting with one of the young ones, the man spoke softly to send the little one out.

“The camp will remain here for a few days, the Queen will go to the Isle of Faces, but must return in three days time. We intend to continue farther north; we leave it up to your people as to where you go.” Jorah crossed and sat on the floor; it was a different custom; but even sitting on the same surface he was much taller than the elder.

“I will come with you, along with our warriors; but I would like our children to go to the Isle of Faces eventually. The land has been impassible for centuries, they have never been, but the Isle will be safe.” Flynt told him, looking up to meet his gaze.

“We intend to fly; we will search for a route from above.” He promised, he understood the man’s desire to go home. “What do you believe we will learn there?’

“The dragon’s magic is strong within her, if she harnesses the power alongside the ancient weir woods she will overthrow Cionna’s. If any of our seers survive, they will be able to guide her.” Flynt explained, Jorah did not miss the warning; the man did not know if there would be aide for her. Yet remained certain of the destination.

“And what is the price of such magic?” The concern that remained first in his mind, thinking of his wife as well as their daughter; every day they were away was a greater risk of something happening that changed everything. Either up here or in the South, with its nest of vipers.

“She pays the price every day, the dragon’s magic is not bought in increments; it is a price paid whether it is used or not. Does her mind not suffer when it stills? When her magic is ignored? It is those who do not possess true magic who must buy it in death.” The man frowned at the question, and Jorah waited; there was an old adage about magic. “Our magic is of the earth, bound to the weir woods whose roots stretch deep into the foundations of the earth. The magic the white walkers have claimed is that of the elements; but it crosses over into that of death. Though I do not know what elements of her heritage Cionna still claims. Dragons bridge the elements of the earth and life itself; they may allow men to ride them but will only be truly bound to the one who possesses their magic.”

He was silent, with what Flynt knew he had expected the man to be one of the elders but proved again how little he knew of the Children. The man did not include himself among the seers, but by the stories he had told, and the tint of his skin compared to some of the others, Jorah knew he’d lived many centuries. He did not know the lifespan of these people, the culture, or their powers.

“We will leave at dawn.” Jorah rose to leave. “Meet us at the edge of camp.”

“I can come?” Flynt asked.

“Drogon hardly notices the weight of riders, as long as Daenerys is there he will take as many riders as she asks.” The dragon had carried a whole group of men back to the wall.

“Thank you.” The man rose and grasped his forearm, the look in his eye sincere; Jorah nodded but was a little surprised. “Thank you.”


	14. Chapter 14

The ground beneath them changed as the coast came into view. She could see the island, in the distance the whole of it looked deep red; covered by the leaves of the weir woods that grew there. But below them the foothills of the mountains were strange, as though coated in ice, only as they dropped lower, she realized the discoloration in it was tree branches. 

Upright trees with ice spun around them, tall and ancient, it seemed impossible and yet as Drogon dipped lower she spotted the cause. Her belly turned into knots, spiders, the size of Ghost, Jon's great direwolf, spun ice instead of web. They looked as though they were made of crystal with pale blue legs of ice, three of them had stopped spinning, encasing the top of a tall pine. Now they snapped their fangs in the air, suddenly a fine, icy string shot skyward. 

Drogon roared in anger and they all lurched upon his back, she looked down to see that ice string tangled about his leg. His jaws opened and fire burst downwards, shattering the icy string and punching deep into the ice. Angered the dragon banked, and Daenerys stared into a great cavern in the ice; the spider did not reappear.

But others were scrambling towards them and she whispered a command; Drogon rained fire upon the hills of ice. Revealing the trees and true land far below them, destroying the horrible creatures that had been burying this landscape. How far did their damage stretch already? 

Drogon continued to the coast, exhaling fire with every breath, behind her she knew Jorah would be scanning the landscape for white walkers and their dangerous weapons. Ice stretched out into the bay, thicker than she had seen along the coast, certainly the work of the giant spiders.

Drogon set down upon a shore blackened as though it had been burned, breathing flame out to the ice; a lone spider scrambled across, it only stopped where the water lapped at it. Jorah had slid down first and quickly grabbed Flynt who followed, she frowned as he bodily carried the man to the snow covered rise some feet away. She landed and was surprised to find the ground hot; she was not standing on charred earth but in a bed of coals.

Jorah crossed back to her, reaching for her hand. "The heat may not bother you but if the leather burns away the cold will." 

She nodded and followed quickly; the whole of the shore was covered in a thick layer of coals. As she looked around Jorah pivoted, easing her behind him, hand on the hilt of his sword.

A moment later two Children appeared from between the trees. Without concern Flynt started forward and reached for one; they grasped forearms staring at each other. The second disappeared suddenly and a few moments later three more appeared. Their eyes grew large as they eyed the dragon who was still tormenting the creatures and sending steaming waves of water crashing over the sea ice, driving it backwards from his spot; crouched in the coals. Daenerys suspected he was enjoying the warmth.

"The man is of Bear Island, and the dragons have been reborn in the Targaryen Queen; born of the dragon." Finally, Flynt had greeted each and stopped to introduce them. 

"That dragon is born of death, look at its scales." One scoffed, leaning against the trunk of a towering weir wood and Daenerys frowned, surprised that he could recognize that.

"Both the adult dragons are, there is a second that remained with her forces." Flynt murmured, he looked to Jorah.

Neveah was tucked into the fur lined hood of his cloak; however, she was watching Drogon rather than trying to peek over his shoulder. Gently Daenerys reached up to lift her out, earning a reproachful hiss, Neveah hated the cold, but she snuggled the young dragon to her chest.

They whispered among themselves for a moment but then from the trees a wavering voice called out. "She is the dragon, we felt her birth twenty-six years ago, as she came of age the long summer began; her strength has been growing in the world, but magic has been lost to her kind for generations. Which of you harnessed your powers without guidance?"

In the back two very old Children stood, it was hard to gauge their age, each one they met seemed older than the last; but they leaned heavily on walking sticks. 

"Come child. There is much we must speak of; none here will harm you." The woman eased forward as she spoke, and the others stepped aside for her, and laid a hand upon Daenerys shoulder. "Many have tried to harness your power for their own gain; I will show you how to discern it for yourself."

"And what of the white walkers? They grow closer with each moon and winter has...." Hissed one of the others, his protest was silenced with a glare.

The woman ignored him, gently guiding her forward but Daenerys felt as though energy was gathering within her; the dull throb returning to her head. Jorah fell in behind her with Flynt at his side as she was led between the towering trees. It was as she followed the woman, she realized the woman did not lean upon the stick, but used it to guide herself. 

There were trails in the snow, leading between the tall trees, but ahead she saw a tree with green grass upon a small hill; the tree upon it seemed to shimmer and energy danced through her. She glanced back to see that Jorah was still behind her but walked eagerly towards that tree.

The old woman leaned her stick against the trunk of that great tree and sat upon one of the gnarled roots that crept across the ground. She motioned for her to sit and Daenerys did, aware that Jorah crossed to stand behind her; but he was eyeing the tree as well.

“I saw the night you were wed, and I saw the morn your king knelt in the gardens deep in the south.” The woman stroked the trunk of the weir wood lightly. “It is only in the weir woods that I see now, my name is Auna.”

“You are a three eyed raven?” She asked quietly, that was what Bran had called himself.

“No, no that is a term of man. I am a seer, I possess the full powers of the earth, not simply the sight. You are a dragon, you’ve no concept of your power, none with such strength have sought to understand the truth of it since the doom fell. And they paid dearly.” Auna told her, clasping her hands in her lap.

“I do not understand.” Daenerys murmured, the dragons themselves were possessed of powerful magic, they had called to her in her dreams long before her children hatched.

“Why do you tend the wound upon your husband’s chest?” The old woman asked, Daenerys tensed, feeling Jorah do the same; the woman should not know of such a thing. “The wound itself is necessary to you, but you know that should it become infected it would fester. It would cause him great pain, make him ill and weak; in time it would even strip him of his ability to swing a sword.”

She was silent, all of that was true, it was something she knew they both watched silently though they did not discuss it. It was the cure that Sam had found for her, and the proof of it waited for them upon Bear Island.

“The price I paid is my sight in this world, the price of another might be their hearing, for men who possess our gifts it is their legs. For the dragons it is the most powerful of all, befitting of the magic they hold; and that is the mind.” Shock rippled through Daenerys and she felt Jorah’s hand upon her shoulder; her husband ready to pull her away from the seer. “I make no threat; I state a fact history has proven. Those of dragon blood war with their minds; with the power they have not realized. In mixing your blood you take a step in the right direction; it is one we all have used. It is knowing how to use it that is key.”

“I will not practice blood magic.” Daenerys countered, laying her hand upon Jorah’s; she would not run from this. “I did not understand what it truly was, and I punished the witch who tricked me…”

“I do not try to trick you, but there is blood in all magic; the distinction is how it is used. And the woman you met; her magic was death; but it held no true power. Nor did the men who chained your dragons in the East. They fed upon yours, the first might not have known it, but the warlocks did.” The woman interrupted her, reaching out to lay a hand upon hers.

Daenerys swallowed hard; it was unnerving to see how much of her past this women knew. To know that others had the power to see into the personal lives someone a world away. “This is the place we need you to be Dragon Queen, but understand that it will be a difficult place to be; the powers you do not know will call to you here.”

…

The day was spent beneath the largest weir woods he had ever seen, sitting on the roots of one with a trunk so wide he was not sure three men with arms outstretched would span it; the face bigger than the elderly seer who spoke to them. That Auna spoke so easily of magic made him hesitant to trust, but she spoke frankly, answering Daenerys questions; even when the answers had his wife glowering in irritation.

A great deal of the time was spent discussing blood magic and the distinctions between the powers that existed in the world. This war was bound to magic, to the powers largely unrecognized in the world that they lived in; but magic had touched each of their lives. And he thought Daenerys showed her wisdom in asking questions, in making the woman tell her the same thing in different ways; seeing that it was consistent.

He knew it was all still new to her as well, she’d never had someone with any knowledge of these matters to speak to. He would always remember the days that she realized she had powers of her own, the night she walked into that funeral pyre he had truly believed she would burn with the body of the khal and that witch. Instead he found her in the ash the next morning with her hatchlings in her arms, she had begun to learn her power. And by the time she faced the warlocks of Qarth she had believed enough in her own magic to confront their powers.

But it had taught her little of the origins of her power, of how to use or control it. Auna spoke of the strains of magic within the world and the powers they held, that of the earth, the air and the dragons who spanned both. The powers of the earth were practiced by the Children, Bran’s powers stemmed from the earth as well, passed through a mother centuries ago to touch upon her descendants, her blood spreading throughout the North.

Auna told them of blood magic, or dark magic as she called it, a magic practiced widely in the east, and claimed by their foe here. The woman spoke with disdain about dark magic, those who practiced it held little power, their magic did not come from within; it was bought with the blood of others. Drawn from the strength of others in many ways, some possessed tokens, but for more powerful spells blood was required.

Jorah listened as the woman told them a little more of her people, the Children of the Forest, an ancient people, whittle down to what he suspected to be little more than two dozen between those here and the ones left in their war camp. Auna said their life spans were bound to the weir woods under which they were born, once the tree died the life force of the warrior was lost; the magic of the seers could not save them.

It was there that Flynt interrupted, clearing his throat softly; standing hear the edge of the clearing. “There are other ways to kill us, a spear or sword will do the task, but old age will only take us when our tree is gone; many died too soon in the great war. In that time, we were cut off from this place, Cionna knew what it was to us; we were cut off from the greatest of our seers and healers.”

He knew the legends; he knew how many weir woods had been cut throughout the centuries and the stories of how the Children of the Forest had been slaughtered. But it was a strange thing to sit here and hear the truth of it.

Eventually, as the day faded, they were offered a meal and shown a place to rest, Auna spoke as she led the way. “Sleep as much as you can child, you are here now, and your powers will call to you; until you know how to harness them there are others who will try.”

Stopping before the foot of a tree Flynt reached for the trunk and then began to climb, Daenerys glanced back at him and Jorah frowned. Laying a hand upon her back, he leaned close to look up the trunk, the man climbed quite nimbly; it made sense somehow that they lived in the trees. Shifting his hands to his wife’s hips he boosted her up, spotting the hand holds on the trunk.

Daenerys climbed cautiously and Jorah levered himself up behind, he hadn’t climbed trees in such a way since he had been a boy on Bear Island. But they passed through the branches and upon them a floor had been laid; a hut built around the trunk. Daenerys stepped cautiously onto the floor and stood in the small space. Between the trunk and the wall, a bed had been made, a frame filled with thick soft moss.

Flynt nodded and then turned to climb back down the tree; Jorah stooped; aware that his head would hit the beams of the roof. Finally, alone he felt the length of the day, their journey this morning and the hours he’d spent standing at his wife’s side.

“Is that to be our bed?” Daenerys murmured, she looked unimpressed at their bed for the night; at least it would be long enough for her.

“It will be more comfortable than you think.” He reassured her, unfastening his cloak and sword belt; the moss would be soft and warm. “And Auna is right, you need to rest Daenerys.”

She looked less than sure but allowed him to take her cloak and they began to settle for the night in this strange place. Jorah carefully molded his frame around hers for what was likely a bed comfortable for several Children his body was much to long for it.

“What do you think of all of this? Do you see a way it will help us to end the war?” His wife asked, nuzzling into his chest, not at all concerned that he’d draped his leg over her. Displeased with having been put at the foot of the bed Neveah climbed over them, making both of them wince as she found a spot at Daenerys shoulder.

“I believe that will come in understanding your own powers. We didn’t get quite that far today, lets try to hear them out, and if it does not help us end the war at least it is knowledge that may help you.” Though he sensed that there was far more that they did not know.

She nodded and pillowed her cheek on his arm and nuzzled in; her eyes drifting closed easily. Jorah smiled a little, brushing her hair back from her cheek; pleased that she could sleep here. He was tired enough that he knew he would too; but first he needed to think through the day.

From what they had seen as they crossed to the Isle, to what they had been told here; it was a great deal to consider. Daenerys was right that they did not have the answers they needed to end this war, or to harness her powers but he sensed the determination in these people. They were worn and desperate and yet the presence of his wife had encouraged them, as had the sight of the little dragon who snored lightly at his wife’s side.

He pulled the cloak up around Daenerys shoulders, rather pleased to have his wife’s warm frame at his side, before closing his own eyes. Jorah drifted off soon after, for he woke to an elbow in the gut, his wife tossing next to him in the small bed.

With a sigh he tossed back the cloak and gathered his wife to his chest, she was moving, but she was not crying out and he was never sure whether it was better to wake her or soothe her through it. Daenerys dreamed often, but it had been a long time since she’d had nightmares; claiming it was the blood that helped. He preferred to ignore that theory, but he knew that sometimes, if he held her close, he could soothe her back to sleep.

It was gentler than waking her, pulling her roughly from whatever trauma her dreams taunted her with, her small frame was strong and tonight she fought harder as he tried to comfort her. Upset at being disturbed Neveah screeched at them, Jorah knew he’d little choice now.

“Daenerys! Come now darling.” He spoke loudly, needing his voice to reach her wherever she was. “Wake up now Khaleesi!”

She let out a hoarse cry before her eyes opened and she looked around as though confused. Jorah caught her jaw, turning her up so that she would see his face, see that he was the one trying to restrain her. He felt her sigh and loosened his grip a little as she relaxed into him, but the panic had not left her eyes.

“I saw it.” She whispered, twisting in his arms to lay her cheek against his chest. “Or maybe I saw through it, I am not sure. It seemed peaceful at first, but it wasn’t and it was…”

She trailed off and he only nodded, that description did not give him enough information to make sense of anything. Fear ruled her features and her arms slid around him, locked tight about his chest, he could still hear her breathing and feel her pounding heart.

“It looked like a village at first, like any, they have children, they have homes; but it was something else…” She broke off again, eyes closed. “Jorah, it all washed away, it was never there.”

“Start from the beginning Daenerys.” He whispered, realizing she was somewhere in the middle of it all; trying to explain it.

“It started strange, at first it was like a haze forming in front of me, it was snow Jorah; I was walking through a blizzard like none I’ve seen. They were in the heart of it, in a valley between tall ridges of sheer ice. I was invisible to them, I wasn’t really there, but it was as if I was. There were children, the smallest I saw was maybe five or six name days, playing on the ice, people walking among their homes: working. But when I reached out to touch a door I was back in the storm.”

Jorah listened quietly as she told him of walking out of the snow a second time into a wall of ice and bones; a place of death. Her voice trembled as she told him of the story told in the ice, the ridges of ice that marked the death that had built the place she stood in.

Telling it seemed to settle her, and he listened to her, gently rubbing her back as he considered the two images she described. The first she almost seemed to like, it was the second that had disturbed her sleep and Neveah realized there was attention to be had; crawling into Daenerys lap to be stroked.

“I feel as though I saw through that dream, to the truth. I’ve dreamed before Jorah, even when it is bad; but never like that.”

“Or through someone else’s magic?” He murmured, thinking of what Auna had told them. They had come to a powerful place for the Children, but one of the first warnings that the seer had given them was the strength of Daenerys magic.

She nodded quietly but reached out to touch the trunk of the tree that split through their dwelling. “Is it a strange thing if I sleep upon you? I do not want to touch the tree; it may not help but…”

“I’ll hold you, gladly.” He murmured, shifting down in the bed so they both might sleep.

“It has been a long time since you called me Khaleesi.” She sighed, nuzzling into his chest, still holding the little dragon.

He smiled, rubbing her back until she fell asleep again, he hadn’t considered how using her name had become his habit; how things shifted over time. It had been a very long time since she had been a Khaleesi and he had to be careful to use her title; but the title had come easily to his lips.

Jorah drifted in and out that night, holding her carefully, though he quickly realized he could not stop her from dreaming. He sensed the tension in her even as her face remained peaceful; he knew the nightmares did not return. Though he was fairly sure it was not a nightmare as much as some sort of vision.

But it was in the hours before dawn that he noticed something odd, Neveah, who remained in her lap opened small jaws and he flinched, expecting her flame. But even as it began it became an eerie puff of blue smoke though the small dragon’s jaws remained wide. It happened a second time and his wife jerked in his arms, waking with a gasp. Ready, Jorah stroked her cheek and held her close.

Glancing up at noises beneath them, a moment later Flynt appeared on the ladder; the man looked eagerly at Daenerys. “Auna is back as well.”

“Back?” Daenerys whispered.

“You’ve travelled far in the night lass, Auna knew the call would be strong upon you, but none of us realized it would pull so hard.” Flynt replied, and then disappeared down the ladder again.

Jorah was silent for a long moment, and then gently helped her up, they dressed quickly, and he helped her down the tree. They found the Children of the Forest waiting at the foot of it, Auna and Flynt stood near the base but in the shadows, he saw the faces of others. Did they all know that Daenerys had dreamed last night?”

Daenerys eased back into him as she noticed they were once again the subjects of everyone’s interest. After last night he knew she was still tired, and was certain they were to be in for another long day. But he saw the look that went between his wife and the ancient seer.

“I knew your power would draw her, especially here, a dragon in the presence of the weir woods; I am sorry I was not with you the first time.” Auna had drew close, taking Daenerys hand and holding it between hers. “You did so much in one night. Now you must be hungry, come.”

He felt Neveah’s small claws through his coat as the little dragon pulled herself up to see what was happening. They walked the paths between the weir woods, Jorah noticed many of them held cabins like the one they had slept in last night.

But he saw the smoke that rose from beneath several trees, and it was from the roots of one that a woman brought them all bread and salted fish. Jorah fed a piece from his bowl to their daughter’s dragon, noticing that Daenerys pushed her food around instead of eating.

“They could see you.” She finally murmured.

“Yes.” Auna nodded. “I am bound to the earth, I travel through the roots of the weir woods. In the past I have learned to walk unseen, but in the present if I walk my presence is there and Cionna has taught her people to watch for me. Child there is much you must learn, about the powers you possess, about those that others can hold; how they can be used.”

“When Bran spoke of being able to travel into the past, he said the Night King, or his Commander; the creature we faced was able to touch him. That is how he found Bran, why he wanted to kill…” Daenerys spoke softly.

“That boy is not as powerful as he thinks, he still has not seen past Cionna’s magic and he does not seek out the truth of his own magic; his impulsivity gave them the power to rise far faster than they have in centuries.”Auna’s tone changed as she spoke of Bran and Jorah noted the reactions of those around them.

While Daenerys seemed to be welcome here, and their ignorance of the powers of magic something to be corrected, the mention of Bran Stark raised their irritation. But as Auna and Daenerys discussed what had happened in the night Jorah added the information to what they had already been told.

He had been right, Daenerys had dreamed again last night, but it had not been as traumatic the second time her powers carried some part of her far from the bed they shared. Auna had met her there that time and they walked through the village of white walkers together.

It seemed that had helped, and the elderly woman spent the morning explaining the different powers a seer might hold. Daenerys was considered pure, powers she had been born with, bound to a certain source. But there were others, gifted by the gods through various means, given to those with some magic in their ancestry; and those stolen through the dark arts.

Through Lyanna’s line, the magic of Cionna had been added to the Stark house, and others in the North through time and marriage. For most it had gone largely unrecognized, it had for the descendants of Valyria as well; but for the Children of the Forest a different tragedy had been struck. Their descendants knew of their magic, but in a secret war he was not sure any fully understood their magic had been targeted by the white walkers; and they had become cut off from their seers and elders.

That devastation they had seen firsthand, but it was the power of their magic, the power of Daenerys magic that he was witnessing now. The way Auna spoke, it was Daenerys’ magic that had drawn her into that village; it seemed it was not so easy for most to travel through the present.

He rose as Flynt drew close, the man murmured that a raven had arrived; it seemed to unnerve the man a little but the conversation gave him pause. “Your powers are different from ours, especially when your dragon travels with you. Your strike in this war has been true, if you were to venture back now you would find a very different place; the dragons you call your sons will have seen to that.”

Tension ran down his spine and he saw the concern in his wife’s face, using a small gesture to indicate that she needed to remain as she was. He moved quickly to follow Flynt to the shore, as much to find out about the raven as to check if Drogon was still there. But as he reached the bed of coals that smoked even more this morning upon the shores the great dragon was nowhere to be seen.

The raven had perched in a tree, and two of the men stood watching it; the bird allowed itself to be caught easily. But the Children seemed nervous of it and Flynt motioned for him not to speak as he removed the parchment from its leg as soon as he did the bird was thrust into a bag.

“Wait! I may need it, to send a response to Jon.” He knew the seal.

“We cannot allow that bird past this shore, there is a reason they call that boy the Three Eyed Raven; he can possess a great many forms but that is his favorite. Birds have long been the favorites of the human’s seers. We cannot speak here, it will be kept until you give orders.” Flynt told him hushed tones, already moving away from the shore.

Jorah nodded, his mind rolling through the events in the grounds of the Red Keep; namely the attempts upon Meera Reed’s life. Certainly, there were events that had made these people wary of birds, as they walked back to camp he opened the scroll.

_Arya’s men have been found, but my sister slipped from the camp the night she was found, and this night past Rhaegal abandoned us. I can only assume he is headed for the Queen._

_We break camp today to head North, deeper into the mountains to a land the free folk have long feared. It is an inaccessible region that has bred many legends, Arya is convinced it is there that Bran is being held. I will send word when we make camp again._

Jorah swallowed a curse. “I must respond Flynt; I need quill and ink.”

Both dragons had left, and he replayed Auna’s words, Daenerys had summoned her sons in her dreams; if that was true Jon was heading towards their target. As was Arya. The girl was a fighter, but she did not have a hope against two grown dragons, and Bran certainly did not.

Jorah penned the note quickly, cautioning the man to make camp some distance from the intended target, to watch for the dragons, and for any sort of wildlife. When he returned to the camp, he schooled his features, and sat by his wife’s side once more.

“Auna, our goal is to overthrow the white walkers and the dead, we stand with you on that. But we did not come alone, we have friends, kin who are attempting to accomplish the same task in the strength of man; in the ways they know.” He chose his words carefully, laying a hand upon his wife’s thigh.

“Whatever Bran Stark may be he is the brother of our friend, of the Warden of the North, and he is little more than a boy. You’ve warned my wife, a woman you know has far more life experience, has seen much of this world and who you claim to be born of true magic of Cionna’s power. If Bran’s power is weaker, if he has not been taught then how can he be condemned?”

“While his power might not be what your wife’s is, or what Cionna’s is; it is power he has wielded dangerously. Power that he has used to kill, to wound men, to wound you; power that cost him the mentor who used what remained of his strength to call him to safety. That shattered the defenses we had kept alive for centuries.” The woman’s voice rose in anger and Jorah recognized that there was pain behind it, privately he wished they’d thought to bring Meera with them; she might shed some light on the events Auna spoke of.

“He would not be the first boy who did not know how to handle power, he does not deserve to burn for it and Daenerys did not know her presence in that village summoned Drogon and Rhaegal.” His fingers tightened on his wife’s leg, willing her to stay quiet; he needed to see the seer’s reaction.

“I understand that, and my personal opinions aside your men could never take that village; they would all die as generations have before. But your dragons, taking it by surprise will render the threat of an army history.” The seer spoke emphatically, barely taking a breath before she continued. “It was not what Cionna wanted when she tried to show you their village. She was never there, nor is the boy you fear for; I doubt her son was either. But at least they will not have hundreds of white walkers to call upon, they will not have the wights to call upon, for they’ve been given true death already. This can finally be ended.”

“Then Bran may still be alive? He is at another location?” Daenerys whispered, and he was proud of her, he could sense her anger; but she kept it in check.

“Yes, a weir wood could never grow in ice as deep as they live. You do know that the Land of Always Winter was not always so? Cold, aye, but things could grow once. Even the weir wood she has claimed is near death, it cannot survive the storm her magic calls up.”

“I believe I’ve heard enough for today. Forgive me, but I must retire; I want to learn but I must also think.” Daenerys sighed. “If Drogon returns today would you please inform me?”

The old woman nodded, and Jorah helped each of them up, intending to guide Daenerys away, but Auna held his arm firmly. “If she truly needs rest, she must dull her blood. You’ve done it to give her rest many times before, but she’s never needed it more.”

Jorah nodded, he understood what she meant but first he knew his wife would need to vent. So much had happened today, and she knew only part of it; but they did not yet know the results of it.


	15. Chapter 15

In Jorah’s arms she was safe, and it was there that she stayed that evening in the small cabin built high on the trunk of the weir wood tree as they discussed what they had learned. Before dusk Drogon returned and Rhaegal came with him, she went down briefly to see her children who rested upon the shore; but she did not need to travel in her dreams to know the thing was done. The breeze felt warm, the sea ice did not reach into the bay and none of the horrible creatures were anywhere in sight on the far coast.

But it did not cheer her much, for the understanding of these powers, of her dreams, of the price of magic still seemed just beyond her grasp. And so, when Jorah sat upon the bed frame, she had straddled his lap; eagerly reaching for the fastenings of his coat. And then for his blade.

Her husband did not make a sound, taking the blade from her and opening the scar himself, he hardly flinched as she pressed her mouth to the wound. When she rubbed at it, encouraging blood to flow his hand only came to the back of her head, holding her there as though in encouragement as he flexed the muscles; a far more effect means of meeting her goal.

Finally she sat back, wiping his blood from her mouth and applying pressure to stop the wound. “Are we any closer to ending this?”

“I do believe that we are.” He murmured, gently leaning her into his chest. “And while the circumstances of what happened are difficult, I believe destroying any reinforcements our enemy could hope for was a good thing.”

“I was used, she knew what would happen and she did not warn me…”

“I do not know that it is so simple Daenerys, it was not her who summoned the dragons, only you could do that.” Jorah rubbed her back, stilling her protest. “She warned us that the draw upon you would be strong, I don’t think she realized just how strong it would be either; and I do believe the purpose you were drawn to that place backfired badly upon the one who called you.”

“We know far more today than we did two days ago, and we know that our men are not going to stumble upon an army of the dead or of white walkers. We also know that your magic is more powerful than that which we fight.” He was right on all counts, but it did not make her feel much better, she still did not feel as though she understood it.

“It does not feel like enough.” She grumbled.

“Essentially what we are left to face is a rescue mission. Whatever they think of Bran Stark we must try to bring him home, if only because we must destroy Cionna. Tomorrow we ask them plainly how to do that.” Jorah said, speaking it as fact.

“How do we do that without risking our men? What of her magic?”

“Yours is more powerful, and I believe there is a way to ensure you can harness it.” He spoke slowly, his voice revealing that he already knew his idea was one she would not like. “I will kill her.”

“No, you will not go face to face with a witch; I need you…”

“And I believe we will need your magic to kill her. I remember your nightmares in the Dothraki Sea, in Qarth, Astapor, then in Yunkai and Mereen when Missandei would try to wake you from your nightmares, you yourself have told me how strong they are. But you have always come back to me.” He spoke softly and brought her back to a time long ago when they slept in tents, or in whatever shade they could find in the months after she lost her son; in the nights when the nightmares truly begun. Just after she had hatched her children. “Daenerys, we must end this. You know as well as I that the longer we are up here the more plots will be hatched in the south; there will be some hoping we do not return.”

She’d had nightmares since she was a small child, but after the dragons woke, they had become much worse. Daenerys had believed long believed it the witch’s curse, the trauma of loosing her son; until Samwell Tarly gave her a cup of blood mixed with wine. The nightmares had eased, their daughter had been born, and even in the chaos of ruling and rebuilding a country she felt a sense of calm, of home. Were they the price she paid for denying her powers? or the interference of others?

She slept that night, if only out of exhaustion, though Jorah had lay Neveah upon her cloak as far from where they slept as possible. And mercifully she did not dream, but when she woke Jorah was sleeping still sitting upright; still holding her. There was every possibility he had dozed off and, on all night, to guard her sleep, and knowing that made his plan an even harder thing to face today.

She knew he believed in her, today and every day, but Daenerys was not confident in this. The only time she had had a vision outside of her dreams had been Qarth and while she knew that had been the work of the warlocks; done using dark magic and perhaps some of her own power.

Motioning Neveah to her side, the little dragon hopping eagerly across the floor, she closed her eyes; her hands on the warm purple scales as she envisioned the place she had walked with Auna. She did not reach out for the weir wood as her magic was bound to her children rather than the great trees, and she wanted no channel to invite another with her.

Aware that Jorah had woke, as if sensing that she had gone, Daenerys forced herself to block him; he had a grounding effect upon her. He might not like it, but he’d heard Auna’s words as well, whatever happened in this vision she would be able to walk invisible through the present in another place. For she did not rely upon another’s eyes, and her magic shielded her form the enemy with powers of their own. Though her presence would be felt; a distinction between her magic and that of others.

Daenerys was not confident it would work, and felt herself in flux for a few moments, for at first it seemed it hadn’t; she stood alone in a great valley of snow and stone. It looked little like the place she had seen, but as she walked a little way, she found an old sword, bones littered about it; and there were other items scattered in the snow.

In places the ground had been revealed, but the great walls of ice, the defenses and huts of the village were gone. She had expected to see the signs of dragon fire she had known in the past. Scorched timbers, the remains of ruined dwellings; perhaps the burned bodies. However little of that existed, she saw bones, but they were not scorched; instead lay in heaps forming long lines along the perimeter. On a rock face she had not seen before there were scorch marks, and she realized it was the only true wall in the valley; the rest had been ice.

Daenerys lay her hand upon the stone as much to test the vision as to see that she was truly in a place. Beneath her palm she felt the cold rock, but looking about the valley nothing changed, it was not exactly relief that she felt; but it was something. And as she considered it, longing to see what had happened she heard the chirp of the young dragon sitting on her shoulder.

Neveah opened her jaws but remembering how her flame had caused a wall to collapse when Daenerys had tried to protect Auna from a warrior who tried to strike her. It had been her reaction that summoned Drogon and Rhaegal to this place; she did not want to call them again. She reached out, planning to shut Neveah’s jaws, but her hand passed through the small dragon’s flame, closing around it.

But she was jerked backwards, as if pulled by an invisible rope, she landed on her rear; Neveah having beat her wings to fly, intent upon destroying a building. Chaos swirled around her; men of ice were launching spears at the small dragon’s fire; she realized they could not see what was destroying their homes. And Neveah turned upon one who had been harassing Auna; her flame destroyed him as a great shadow passed overhead.

She did not see which dragon it was right away, but a great burst of flame brought down a towering wall of ice and as the dragon wheeled; Rhaegal blasting a path through the village. Ice shattered, and the ground collapsed beneath her as a thick layer of melted away.

It was a disturbing thing, but Daenerys watched as the ice the dragons destroyed revealed so many bones, as creatures of ice were shattered by fire. Walking through the village she searched for Bran Stark but found no sign of him. And as Neveah landed on her shoulder once more Daenerys opened her eyes in the dim light of the cabin built in the weir wood tree; leaning against her husband’s chest.

“It is truly gone. All who were in that village perished, I know they no longer lived, but for some the ones changed as babes it was the only life they ever had. All because two people loved each other, and turned upon those who had once loved them; is that truly the root of this?”

“Not entirely, I would wonder if Cionna truly knew the magic she played with, if she had any idea of what death would do to her powers or to the family she was trying to save; she might not have realized the price until it was too late. You know sometimes once a thing has been done there is not going back; especially with blood magic. And a war already raged, in a way her acts forced peace between the first men and the Children.” Jorah murmured, and she found herself nodding, imagining a woman desperate to save her husband; she was well aware of the lengths one might go. But she didn’t care to know the particulars, there had been thousands of years for seers to try to understand that; she needed to focus upon the living.

“By becoming the common enemy, an enemy who hated these people even more than us.” Daenerys murmured, thinking all of it was rather sad.

“It ends for all of us today.” Jorah promised, lifting her cloak, and helping her into it.

That morning they told Auna what they intended, and behind her Flynt stood somber; the rest listened from the shadows. But the man they had first met corrected her plan, Auna could meet her in the vision, could show her where to face Cionna; and would stand with her to protect her husband. Yet they were asked to do something else first.

“Will you take me to the forest? To see Cionna ended, we must take down the tree under which she was born. It was swallowed by the ice many centuries ago, to protect it and her from such a thing; once it is gone a sword will kill her and there is no seer in this world who will help her.” Flynt told them, his voice somber and she understood; the man was choosing the living over his own blood. “I will fight with King Jorah.”

She agreed, nodding quietly, it was a terrible thing to have to do; but clearly it was something that had been considered before. They left, Auna waited upon the weir wood, promising to be ready for her call, on the shore they mounted Drogon and soared down towards the coast once more.

But as they passed over the land Daenerys began to feel the pull, a cold a clutching feeling; she quickly realized it was their foe. Jorah called to her, but Daenerys answered that pull, if the woman was playing with her perhaps, she would not be able to interfere with what they must do.

She saw her army, the camp encircled in great walls of ice, the ice was closing in upon them; thinking to push through its Daenerys lay her hand upon the cold surface. But it remained, it was real and even as she felt the stir of a dragon upon her shoulder she stilled her emotions, she knew the men who were eying their predicament, and she knew they knew how to weather a storm. This was the distraction.

It was a trap, she was not sure how she knew it, but she was certain this was meant to draw her from her task; if her dragons were fighting the ice they were not seeking the source. And she was jolted back to the present, finding herself lying upon her husband’s cloak; in the shelter of Drogon’s wings as Jorah and Flynt worked with axes; chopping down a weir wood tree. They must have finished the journey while she was in the vision, Drogon had responded to them, understanding somehow that this was necessary.

“It has been frozen in time since the great war, none have been born under it since before those days; it is the weir woods in which you found us that most of my clan were born under and our elders were born upon the isle.” Flynt was telling Jorah as they worked to take down the tree, but the air was becoming colder and snow blew around them; making the task far harder than it must be.

“Drogon could destroy it, it would take no time.” She offered, drawing close to the two, Flynt was working as hard as he could, but it was Jorah who had to bear the brunt of the work; his sheer height made him more effective with the ax. Even though he still intended to face another fight today.

“It must be cut, the lifeforce of it severed; then you may burn the remains if you like.” Flynt murmured.

And in a short time, she watched the tree fall, the trunk lay upon the snow and blood poured from the face; Daenerys did not bother to burn it. She sensed the levity of what they had done, no more Children would be born beneath this tree, no seer would touch its trunk to heal their kin or seek an answer ever again.


	16. Chapter 16

The snow had blown up from the West as they worked to cut down the tree, but he’d watched it come in; somehow he knew that was the direction they would have to travel. Drogon and Rhaegal rested in the snow, quietly watching over their mother as the great tree fell.

Jorah understood the significance of this task but was reassured that the suggestion had come from those who valued these trees and the knowledge it had been a long time since any children had been born beneath this tree. For they stood in a great canyon of ice, the landscape changed by the ice spiders Cionna and her minions created; it was only with the dragons they’d been able to access it.

Even once the threat of the white walkers was gone it might take centuries to return the land to the way it once was. Many long summers would have to come to melt so much ice, for things to grow, and while they had the promise that summer would come; they did not know how long it would take.

He and Flynt struck out, heading West, into the snow and towards the place the seer had told them a weir wood still stood exposed; the only one in these mountains they said had not been coated in ice. When he glanced back both Daenerys and Neveah looked as though they were asleep, his wife rested against Drogon’s leg, then his wing tip shifted forward to hide her from view.

And though he did not see her, he felt her presence with them as they continued, trudging through the snow and climbing up a ridge he suspected had not been shaped by the gods. They travelled a long way that day and slept uneasily under a small outcrop of rocks, it was nearing noon the next day before their goal came into sight.

Jorah was uneasy as even from a high point he could not spot the Northerner’s camp; they had left them in these mountains, and he knew the camp was moving this way. He didn’t like it, didn’t like so many men is this land with a desperate witch; he wished he could have left his wife in a camp with men to protect her.

But he felt her with him, and as they approached the tree a shape appeared and when he looked over Auna had appeared and fallen in step with Flynt. The elder murmured that it was her magic that brought her, she would stay with them for this journey.

“Stop.” Jorah ordered, spotting a trail in the snow, it was that of two people and something crept up the back of his spine as he knelt to look closer; the tracks were small.

“They are not of us.” Flynt murmured, he stooped to look at the tracks as well.

“A child of Lyanna walks ahead to end the war her kin could not.” Auna’s voice echoed through the cold air. “We must hurry.”

Jorah nodded, and drew his sword, feeling better to have it in his hand; they were close. Snow swirled as they drew closer to the tree and he searched for a cave, or any source of entrance to the hill it sat upon. But he saw nothing, and as they climbed the hill, he felt the chill creeping into his bones; a feeling he’d known once before.

At the top he spotted Arya and saw her lay a hand upon the trunk; she must have already investigated the land. But from behind the tree another girl popped out, and anger rose in him; Meera was with her. He and Flynt picked up their pace, Jorah saw the girls turn towards them; then saw shock on her face. Suddenly he glanced over, the two Children were gone, he was alone upon the hill; looking down there were two sets of tracks, until a pace ago.

“How did they get in?” Arya demanded, slipping, and sliding down the hill towards him; her valyrian dagger in hand.

“I do not know.” He muttered, but he had seen this sort of magic before, though it had been many years; but his eyes went to the second girl. “You are not meant to be here.”

Still he stepped back to the spot Flynt’s tracks disappeared and forced himself still; it had been a long time since he lay his hands upon stone unable to follow. His wife had not understood her powers in that day, today she might not know the full extent, but she was far more prepared and yet he was blocked from following her once more. He did not accept that today.

A small flame flickered from nowhere and without hesitation he reached out to grab it; that was Neveah’s magic. It was Daenerys, and the flame should have burned his hand, but it jerked him forward as if she’d reached out and dragged him with her; he felt the girls grab at his arm.

Jerked into the shadows he barely had time to get his footing before he had to duck beneath an ice spear; Flynt had already begun the fight. But they faced two white walkers, men made of ice who towered over the warrior with fading green skin. There was scarcely a moment to think as they stepped into the fight.

Jorah’s broad sword swung down hard, slashing the spear tip from the shaft; and thrust up. He missed his mark but forced the walker back a stride, giving a harsh order two the girls behind him. “Cover your skin!”

As he swung again, he saw a ball of fire strike one as Arya darted about it, trying to strike it with her dagger; the creature had lost its spear. But beyond their fight he watched Auna disappear through a shadowed tunnel, as though she did not see the fight they faced.

Yet somehow, he knew Daenerys was at his side, there was a warmth on the back of his neck and there seemed to be more fire flying about this cavern than Flynt could throw. But it was as a blade crashed towards Meera, one he was not close enough to stop, that he was sure. The hesitation was only a moment, as if something unseen threw the walker off balance. The moment was enough for Meera’s dragon glass blade to find a home, and he struck out with sword once more; an arm of ice fell to the ground.

The creature shattered, leaving behind its weapon, the other was gone, Arya had seen to that and ahead of them Flynt was heading down the tunnel, intent upon his goal. The Stark girl had already started after him and Jorah snarled, shoving Meera behind him.

His eyes searched the shadows, they were beneath the tree, but the space seemed bigger than it should be; the tunnel led deep into the ground. And the roots that burrowed down into this frozen ground looked as though they were made of ice.

The air was cold, it chilled him with each breath, this was more than winter air; it grew colder with each step. As they entered the main chamber fire licked up one wall and Flynt launched another ball of flame at the back wall; a shriek piercing the air.

Finally he laid eyes upon the woman responsible for all of this, smaller than Flynt, but rather than green tones her skin was that of ice, blue hues and in spots already rotting; her fury directed at the living warrior. But it was the boy beyond her that held the attention of the two girls, it was first time he saw Arya falter and yet it was the worst moment.

He did not like the notion of what had to be done, he’d done many things in his life; but it would be easier if it was a man. Just as he steeled himself to the task the woman got Auna by the throat, bringing Flynt forward instinctively; he saw the blade pierce the man as icy hands burned the woman’s neck. It might be magic that brought her here, but she struggled for breath and clawed at the hands burning her.

Fire engulfed those hands, the witch was distracted, and Flynt was dragged back by a figure unseen, his wife might not wield a weapon, but she did fight. Jorah gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and drove it down through the torso of the frozen woman; she lingered for a moment, still strangling the seer and then shattered.

He reached out to grab the woman who collapsed to the floor, her physical body might be somewhere else, but he suspected Cionna had still been able to harm her; might have been able to kill her. Slowly Auna got her feet, a hand coming up to rub the marks upon her throat, but as he looked up to the boy, she went to kneel by her friend.

Both girls were working, hacking at the roots which had grown around the boy’s limbs and torso, he glanced to Flynt and swallowed hard. “What can be done for him?”

“Nothing.” The woman whispered, her fingers gently closing his eyes. “I cannot save him, in severing Cionna’s life force he struck his own from this world; he knew that.”

Jorah felt the shock of that statement roll through him, thinking to the man standing beside him swinging an axe; Flynt had not told them exactly what they did. But it made sense, he’d called Cionna his sister, it was likely much of their family had been born beneath that tree. And suddenly the chamber became oppressively cold, Daenerys was gone he realized; she must have woken from her vision with that news.

“I must help them; I do not know your customs, but I will see his body brought back to you.” He promised, it was a small thing; but something he could do for the warrior who had fought with him, the elder who had helped make an alliance; and a man who even in death would lead his people home.

“I ask something else of you, give that boy to me…”

“No!” Arya Stark turned from her work, pivoting towards them; Jorah stepped between the two, unsure the girl knew that it was magic that kept Auna here.

“I cannot do that. His kin have come a long way to rescue him…”

“I will not harm him, but he has the power to harm us all. His ignorance already did, he was the one who revealed Guthrie’s final resting place; he was the one who gave over the magic of the previous Three Eyed Raven to death. He was the one who allowed them to see Winterfell and brought a war to your home.” Her words made even Arya pause and as she continued Meera’s efforts to hack through the roots stopped. “Jojen Reed gave his life get him to one who could teach him and that boy shattered defenses that we had held since the wall was built, he attempted to kill the one who saved his life five times over because he believed the visions Cionna showed him. If he is not taught, he must be destroyed; there may one day be others who choose death. If he has not chosen it already.”

“I have not, I swear it.” Bran’s voice seemed small, and Jorah stood for a moment; his mind went to the visions Daenerys had seen. Cionna had tried to fool her as well, his wife had seen through it, but her magic was pure; and she called upon the strength of three dragons.

“I cannot give the boy over to you, but he will learn. I give you my oath on that. There is a great weir wood in the garden of Winterfell, there is one in King’s Landing too. Come to him as you have come to us here and teach him in his home, if he will not learn send for me…”

“If he will not learn my brother, the Warden of the North, and I will deliver him to you.” Arya cut him off, her jaw set.

He nodded, and with that crossed, planting his feet and swinging broad sword as high as he could Jorah cleaved through the roots; feeling the impact shoot through his arms. He struck, once, twice and then three more times; leaving the girls to pull Bran from the remnants of the tree.

“Carry Flynt. I’ll take him.” The girls might be strong, but Flynt was going to be far lighter than a boy who was nearly a man. Hefting Bran into his arms he spoke low to him. “My wife has magic far more powerful than yours; I think you knew that when we were in Winterfell. We’ve made peace with the Children, and you are safe because of them; saved at a great cost. Heed Auna and learn to understand your powers in your home or I will deliver you to her; you are not worth more than peace to me. And if you ever try to use an innocent man to kill someone again my wife will see it, and there will be no mercy for you; five times is five too many.”

The boy was silent, and as they hiked back to the mouth of the tunnel, whatever magic had concealed it had died with the witch; the snow seemed clean and inviting after this. But as they began to hike he was uneasy, they began to follow the girl’s tracks back through the snow; they were vulnerable. He carried Bran and Meera had shifted Flynt to her back, perhaps having the same feeling he did; but that left only Arya with her hands free.

Though the risk of being attacked might be low, it would still be hard hiking with two of their party carrying heavy loads. He knew Jon would be following his sister’s tracks, what he didn’t know was how far behind their party was. And though he kept his eyes moving he saw no trees that they could use to make sleds; he’d not cut down another weir wood.

They’d made it out of the valley before he heard the familiar beat of leather wings, Jorah could not deny the relief that he felt as the dragons appeared, circling once before Daenerys found a spot to set down. Daenerys had climbed down Drogon’s wing as they crossed to the dragons, he saw Neveah’s head pop up to rest on her shoulder; the dragon looked almost innocent.

“I flew over the Northerner’s camp, I did not realize they were so close.” Daenerys murmured, she crossed to Meera, laying a hand on the girl’s cheek; he saw the sadness in her eyes as she looked at Flynt.

Close turned out to be a relative word, they mounted, Meera behind Daenerys and Flynt’s body supported between the girls. Bran’s arms wrapped around his sister and Jorah took up the rear, he wanted that boy as far from his wife as possible; Auna’s words rang in his ears. But they all needed to go home, and he knew the Starks would not do that without their brother.

They landed in the camp to the south, a valley in the ice, the men had been struggling through for days, and his wife’s hand slid into his as they watched the reunion between the siblings. Then they turned to the matter of business; getting everyone home to weather this winter. The Northerners would break camp to march for Winterfell but the Unsullied and a few men from Bear Island who had come with him would escort the Children of the Forest through the ice to the Isle of Faces; their people would be reunited. He had also explained the promise he had made to the seer who helped them, Jon had agreed without hesitation; gaze sliding to his brother.

“Your Grace, we would be honored to host you at Winterfell while your ships sail North.” Jon offered, and Jorah tensed; remembering a promise they had made to each other when all of this began. It had been a plan, a happy moment to hope for when what felt like an impossible task loomed before them; but now it was a reprieve he was truly looking forward to.

“I am afraid we cannot accept your offer, however generous. Our daughter is on Bear Island, and I have never experienced my husband’s home.” Daenerys murmured, shifting to embrace Jon for a moment, their relationship had been awkward for a time, but he knew Jon Stark was family to her; even if they would never breathe a word of it.

“Another time then. Winterfell will always be yours, and we are in your debt.” Jon spoke, holding her for a moment though his eyes shifted to his sister. “I would make one request of you.”

Daenerys nodded as she stepped back, her hand easily finding his as Neveah took the opportunity to exchange perches; small claws gripped his upper arm as she levered herself to his shoulder before tucking herself into his hood. She could cocoon herself in his hood, but even she had grown on this journey and fit rather snuggling to his wife’s; he wasn’t sure what they were going to do as she grew to a size where she could not be carried about.

“Arya needs to go to the Stormlands, if Yara has any ships heading around….” The man broke off on a wince, an injury his sister had delivered discreetly he suspected; he hadn’t seen the girl move.

“I can make my own way.” Arya Stark grumbled.

His wife smiled and agreed to the arrangement anyway, but he knew she was hoping to play matchmaker; she liked the young couple. Gendry often spent time in King’s Landing, and before she had come North he knew Arya had been with him; both in the capitol and out at Storm’s End. The girl might balk at the idea of marriage, but the two were happy together.

“You will wait on the coast for the ships, we will go to the Isle to speak with their elders and make arrangements for your arrival, then fly south to Bear Island and send the fleet for you.” Daenerys instructed in the meeting; they had moved into the tents to deal with the arrangements for the winter wind was cutting, though that unnatural chill was gone.

They spoke with the Unsullied and ensured they had the directions and proper provisions for their task before preparing for their final duty in the North. As they left the Unsullied tents Meera, who had lurked during the meetings and followed them out to this section of camp, made to split off; Jorah caught her by the shoulder. “You are coming with us.”

“I can march with the Unsullied, I did it before.” The girl countered, he knew she liked working with them, and that many of the men enjoyed training her; however, he still did not trust Bran and would not for some time.

“You are in our charge; I will not be explaining to your father how you died.” Jorah ended the discussion; Daenerys linked her arm into the girl’s as they headed for the dragons; offering her no choice.


	17. Chapter 17

Meera mounted directly behind her but Jorah had bundled Flynt’s body between the girl and his own frame. As they traveled the dragons stayed low, their flames ensuring that the Unsullied would have a route to follow without having to scale mountains of ice. When they landed upon the shore the coals were cold and they strode slowly towards the trees; from the shadows the Children emerged. She stopped as Jorah strode forward, laying their elder on the ground before them.

“I am so sorry…” Daenerys murmured.

“Flynt knew the risk of what he was doing, but he knew it was the only way to end Cionna’s magic; he dedicated most of his life to it.” Auna murmured, kneeling to lay a hand upon the man’s chest. “He was a part of building the wall, it was his daughter who taught and guarded the last Three Eyed Raven; he worked hard to gather and defend those divided from us as the ice rose.”

“He will be remembered, and he has won your safety; we will stand as your allies. From these lands in the North to Dorne in the South weir wood trees will be planted, and you will be welcomed beneath them.” She promised, she could not change history, but she would seek to understand it more now that she knew she could truly see it.

Jorah stood at her side as the woman stood. “Thank you, Dragon Queen.”

“I will come to you, and I hope that you will continue to teach me.” She murmured, knowing they needed to leave these people to their grief. “Your people travel towards you now, my men will escort them safely; my ships will come to take the soldiers. You live in peace now, free to move about these lands once more.”

The seer nodded and as she eased back Daenerys knew it was time for them to leave, Meera paused and she lay a hand on the girl’s shoulder. The young woman had begun this journey long before she had even returned to Westeros, lost her brother in this war and become a target herself. She knew the girl should be safe, but it did not diminish what the girl had already faced.

They left the Isle of Faces and flew south as the day faded, it was in darkness they approached Bear Island and Jorah shouted to be heard over the wind; instructing her on where to land. They could see the light of torches and candles dancing in windows as Drogon put down upon the island.

But with the tall trees and the village near the shore they had to land up the coast, Jorah led them easily through the darkness; sure of where he was going. She squeezed his hand as they approached the holdfast, looking up at the great wooden statue of a shebear; walking a path worn smooth by generations of her husband’s kin. Suddenly the doors were thrown open and men with torches started down the steps, stopping short as Jorah drew her into his side.

“Your Graces.” The first man bowed low as he saw them, the others following suit in short order. “Lady Lyanna will be glad to welcome you, we are preparing….”

“As much as that would honor us, first I must see our daughter.” Daenerys murmured, perhaps it would be proper to be welcomed first; but she had been away from Rhainys far too long.

The men looked between each other, looking a little confused; a woman elbowed her way forward, scolding the men under her breath. “This way Your Graces.”

Promptly turning back to nudge her way back through the group again, muttering about men not having a clue what a mother would want. As Daenerys stepped forward they all eased back; giving her room to follow. She saw a second woman take Meera under her arm and knew that Jorah noticed too; catching his slight nod.

Her husband had relaxed as they arrived here, and a part of her regretted that it was so late; she wanted to share in his home. The woman led them into a passageway off the great hall and around to a flight of stairs, Daenerys noticed maids hustling up the stairs well ahead of them.

“How have you been Aoife?” Jorah asked, she was not surprised he would know most here, they were his people; and his question made the woman beam.

“I am a grandmum now, Diedre’s had her first, a strong boy. Named him Lorne for his grandfather, we lost him at the Twins with your Aunt; lost too many there.” The woman explained as they climbed the twisting stairs before coming to a wide landing. “Princess Rhainys is in here, the Lady has arranged the opposite chamber for you; it will be ready shortly.”

“Thank you.” Daenerys murmured, certainly Aoife understood her desire to see her baby; a mother would.

And eagerly she entered the chamber, their young maid who had travelled with Rhainys from King’s Landing slipped away, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She nodded her thanks to the woman, sorry to have woken her, but thankful to have some privacy; the thought of holding her daughter had her throat closing. The cradle was in the middle of the room, and as she lay her hands on the rail Rhainys stirred, stretching out in her sleep.

“She’s getting so big.” She murmured, carefully picking up her daughter, snuggled in a small fur lined gown and curled her close. “Look at her hair.”

Jorah smiled, his hand resting on her back as his thumb lightly traced Rhainys’ cheek; and the softest curls that were starting to come in. Rhainys yawned widely, nuzzling into her chest, still mostly asleep. But an excited squeak broke the peace of the moment; Neveah had pulled herself up onto Jorah’s shoulder and was reaching down to greet her friend.

Rhainys blinked several times in surprise, making a series of little whimpers as she woke, but then purple eyes opened, and she let out an excited shriek of her own; reaching up eagerly.

“Hi baby girl.” Daenerys cooed, ignoring the little hand that patted her jaw roughly before clutching a braid and using it to pull herself up. “We have missed you.”

Rhainys chattered eagerly and when Jorah lowered Neveah to his forearm their daughter almost tipped herself out of Daenerys arms trying to grab hold of him. She held her firmly, Rhainys had grown stronger in their time away as well and squirmed towards her goal in the moment before Jorah bent to kiss the top of her head.

She dropped eagerly into the chair her husband nudged her towards and maneuvered the little girl into her lap as the young dragon was placed upon the arm of the chair. Neveah promptly hopped into her lap and sang her delight at being reunited with the babe whose eyes were the color of her scales, oblivious to the enthusiastic pats rained down upon her folded wings.

Jorah stood behind her, his hands warm on her shoulders as she held their babies, enjoying these moments as both babe and dragon drifted to sleep; she was in no hurry to let them go. Rhainys had fallen asleep with a small fist closed about the fastening of her coat, nuzzled into the fur that Daenerys knew was damp from the snow they had flown through.

“Your Graces, please excuse me, but Aoife said you looked tired and thought perhaps rest would be best. The chamber is ready, hot water had been brought up for a bath and a light meal set out.” The man told them, dipping his head before he slipped away; his gaze running over Jorah for a long moment.

She rubbed Rhainys back a little more, not quite ready to let her daughter go, even if she should let her sleep. After a time, she did kiss her forehead, then passed her to Jorah so he could do the same before laying her back in her crib; tucking Neveah at her feet.

“It is so nice to now she is right here in the morning.” Daenerys murmured, watching as Jorah rested a hand on their daughter’s back before shifting to follow her out. “That we have a few days here before we go home.”

Jorah nodded as they crossed to their chamber, allowing the maid to return to her bed. Before the fire a large, steaming wash tub waited and a tall four poster bed was set between two windows; covered in what she suspected were bear pelts. And as promised a platter of food sat on a round table, next to a jug of wine, after so long in the camps, and their visit to the Isle of Faces it all looked so wonderful.

They removed their coats, and Jorah poured them each a drink before he took his to one side of the bed and began to remove his weapons. Then dropped onto the bed to work the laces of his boots; she heard his groan.

“I am feeling my years a little more tonight.” He muttered as he pulled his boot off.

“Age is not exhaustion.” Daenerys only sighed, he was quick to blame it on his age but he had been on alert guarding her for days on end, and marching to her aid before that; it was his sheer stubbornness that kept him at it so long. “There are men who will never have the stamina you do, who would not guard their wives so well.”

He only grunted and she kissed his cheek, hiding the fact she needed to roll her eyes; he was as capable as the day she met him. And she intended to see that he stayed that way, stayed safe that she might keep him with her for a very long time. He liked to groan a little when he she told him he was expected to live to be a very old man, she was not going to raise their children alone, and if he ever forced her to appoint another Hand she would haunt him. He would feel better after a proper meal, and some sleep; he knew she was safe here.

Daenerys crossed to the large tub, a selection of soaps and oils had been laid out. Sniffing one she smiled, it was Jorah’s scent, he used it at home too; no matter the options offered; perhaps he had used it most of his life. She was looking forward to the morning, to speaking to people who had known him all his life; and seeing the place he loved so well.

She heard a firm knock and called a welcome as her husband hissed her name. Glancing back to find him shirtless, even as there was a soft gasp from the doorway.

“I am sorry to intrude.” Lyanna murmured, her tone softer than was usual as Jorah yanked his shirt back on.

“it is no problem.” Daenerys reassured her; she knew exactly what the girl was feeling; though it had been a long time since such thoughts had bothered her.

Jorah’s scarring was extensive, made worse by the bruises that had come from the battle beneath the frozen weir wood tree. But she had long since become used to those marks, a couple had been made for her; though she would tell the girl no such thing. And though she might be the only one to know it they looked better now than they one had; they faded as time passed.

“There have been a number of ravens in the time you have been beyond the wall.” Lyanna set a leather pouch on the table, her eyes looked troubled as they went to Jorah; there were few who would know the source of his scars.

“Thank you and thank you for your hospitality. Tomorrow I will send the ships North for our men, and those of yours who went with Jon; when they return, we will sail home with the Unsullied. Before we go there are a few things I would discuss with you; but they’ll keep for the morning.” She drew the girl’s attention to her, suspecting they had pulled her from her bed as well.

“Certainly, but there is one thing I ought to tell you privately; though the secrecy of it is the question.” Lyanna murmured, eyes going to Jorah again. “I do not know exactly how or where it started but the truth of your sentence and exile is spreading cousin. Most here have heard now, it was mentioned by the crew who brought up our supplies from the south, so it is likely in the capitol as well. It did not start here.”

“It is nothing to worry about.” Daenerys reassured her, though her gaze slid once more to Jorah; she knew they would have differing opinions on this.

Lyanna excused herself and Daenerys decided it best to give Jorah a few moments to digest that news: turning her attention to the bath. He might not be happy about it, it was a secret he had guarded carefully for a very long time, it had only been with pressure she had learned the whole of it. And it was a thing he had paid a high price for, protecting his aunt had cost him everything.

But the woman was long dead now, and if her letters were anything to go by, she had wanted the truth known, she had wanted Jorah’s name cleared. And with the circumstances being what they had been perhaps some would not judge her too harshly, those who had truly known her would still honor her memory; and Jorah had taken some choices from her in his own exile.

Daenerys sunk into the warm water and took a moment to savor it, only sitting forward when Jorah crossed to kneel by the tub and gently began to wash her back. He had stripped his shirt off again, and she knew he would wash after she did; but she hoped it would soothe the aches he was feeling.

“After so much time I do not see the harm that story could do; and there is nothing that requires us to even acknowledge it if you do not want to.” She murmured, alert for his reaction.

“I’d like to know where it came from, there aren’t many who knew the truth of it. It has been a long time since the truth mattered, but I would like to know whose purpose it is serving.” He muttered, gently brushing strands of her wet hair over her shoulder.

“Not everything is a plot Jorah, it is a tale with certain character….”

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean it will not serve someone else; we never made it public. There are some who might attempt to use it to destabilize us; to say I’ve lied to you.” He mused and she fixed him with a long look, he’d do better to worry about the messages in that sack than this.

“You did lie to me about it, for a good number of years too; but we’ve long since passed that. Find me a man, or woman who has never lied.” Daenerys stood and wrapped herself into the fur he held out for her, stepping carefully from the tub.

Tucked into a warm robe she picked at the food while her husband bathed, he did not linger, stripping off and crouching in the tub to scrub his skin with the soap. Then joined her, taking a slice of bread and some cheese before reaching for the mail his cousin had left.

“It will keep one more night.” She murmured, laying her hand over his.

Jorah nodded and shifted to hold her hand, she shook her head; he was exhausted but still he looked for work to do. She wondered if he missed his office and the book work, or if he had enjoyed the change. He’d spent many years as her advisor and protector, but since their marriage had lamented the fact she insisted he have personal guards; serving in the roles of advisor and administration now. He was just as good at those tasks as he was with a sword, but this was the place that he had first learned all those skills; groomed to become its Lord.

As they settled for the night she curled against his chest, Jorah pulled the warm furs over them; resting his hand on her hip. Warm and comfortable she heard his breathing even out quickly and knew sleep had taken him. Daenerys did not remember drifting to sleep but it was the shafts of light coming through the big windows framing the bed that woke her.

She squirmed a little, seeking her husband’s frame but found only an empty spot that had gone cold. She sat up to find him sitting at the table, opened scrolls strewn before him. With a sign she slid from the bed and wrapped herself in a robe once more, crossing to his side.

“Did you sleep well?” She eyes the paperwork before him; he had been at it some time.

“I did, Aoife brought us some breakfast.” He gestured to the tray at the other end, he’d managed to fill the rest of the space with scrolls and from somewhere found himself paper, quill and ink. She knew there was every chance he’d been awake before the woman sent food up.

As he opened another scroll Daenerys padded across the hall, pleased to find the maid had just finished dressing Rhainys. She sent the girl off to have her own breakfast and attend to any other duties she had; her daughter settled on her hip. Neveah hopped and flapped to get enough leverage to make it onto her shoulder.

Rhainys gurgled happily and pulled at her robe, sadly Daenerys wondered if she wanted to nurse; no matter how hard she’d tried her milk had dried up in the North. When she leaned over her husband’s shoulder again, he paused in his work to catch and kiss the little foot trying to kick him; Rhainys screeched her delight. “Paaa!”

“I don’t know if that was the start of papa or not.” Daenerys laughed as they both gave her a surprised look. Rhainys kicked Jorah again in effort to get more of his attention.

Meanwhile, having spotted some fish on the tray Neveah abandoned them and pulled the large piece with her; hopping to the floor. Jorah jumped up and grabbed her, transferring the dragon and her prize to the stone ledge before she could scorch and devour it.

“She is going to hit a growth spurt soon and be very unhappy when we’re no longer keen to carry her with Rhainys.” Daenerys murmured, though she loved the idea of their daughter growing with her dragon; before Rhainys was a girl of ten Neveah would be a great and fearsome defender.

She took a slice of bread and smeared the thick preserves on it, setting it beside Jorah before making one for herself; the task made a little more challenging as Rhainys realized it was sweet. Keeping their daughter’s fingers from the jar she settled next to Jorah and let their little girl lick a taste of jam from her breakfast.

“What is the news from King’s Landing?” She asked, knowing he had been reading it for some time now; and that it was not likely to be good.

“The Lannisters have stopped the supply of cut stone to the city until they are given larger supply allotments, which has brought construction to a stand still. Ser Davos has redirected as many men as possible to street cleaning and minor repairs, but it will not last. And Varys reports that the Lannisters and two of their bannermen have been stockpiling the supplies they have already received; meaning their people will be starving and ready to believe whatever their Lords tell them.” Jorah muttered as her jaw dropped, the timing of this was rather interesting; certainly, they would know Grey Worm could not make such changes to rations. That course of action would take time and planning as the supplies they relied upon came from the East and were divvied long before they left Dragon’s Bay.

“Did they wait for both of us to leave to pull this stunt? When was that sent?” She snarled, anger curling inside her as she considered exactly what this act of rebellion could mean. Thousands starving and Tyrion’s crafty tongue turning many more against her as conditions became more difficult; but she was not clear on exactly what it would gain her ex advisor. “I can leave today, Drogon could make it to King’s Landing…”

“No, you cannot, that would be admitting this rebellion could pose a real threat it would give it legitimacy. And right now, when we don’t see their end plan, that is something we cannot offer the Lannisters.” Jorah cut her off, his voice firm and he nudged a piece of paper towards her; he’d already begun drafting a letter to Grey Worm.

“What could they gain? What can we do?” She murmured, reaching for one of the scrolls he had already opened.

“Let them wait, if the Lannisters attempt a show of force Grey worm has the army to call upon; they have no way of rallying enough of Westeros to their side to threaten your reign. But just now I cannot see their profit from further destabilizing the alliance with you.” Jorah murmured, dipping his quill in the ink once more.

“The Lannisters are finished, Jamie pled for Tyrion’s freedom, I allowed it and this is how they repaid me? Whether they show force or not I am done with their games, I did not claim this country to allow a singular family to wreak havoc upon the well being of thousands; I will not let the Westerlands starve.” Fury curled within her gut and as if sensing it Rhainys made a little whimpering sound and pulled at her robe.

“Daenerys they are an old political family, woven into Westerosi rule and the rise and fall of many kings for generations. At Casterly Rock I am sure they’ve had advisors with many different skills added to Tyrion’s mind. I suspect they are hoping to lure you into a fight, the battle in the Reach stayed with Tyrion; and many small folk still fear the dragons. There are other ways to assert your power and gain popularity you will lose if your route them out. Make their house suffer, not their people.” Jorah spoke calmly, though she sensed this irritated him too.

“The Westerlands need grain, and clearly their ports are not an efficient means of dispersing it; good thing we have several thousand laborers who will need work until another quarry contract can be arranged. I believe having supplies personal delivered by the Queen’s work force should disperse any support the Lannisters intended to gain.”

She blushed a little, his plan was sound and he pushed the letter he had finished across the table. It explained that they would be home in a fortnight, until then no supplies were to be sent West; the Greyjoys would be informed to reroute any shipments they were transporting. In the meantime Grey Worm and Ser Davos were to begin rearranging the work crews, kitting them for the transport work, finding literate men to accompany each crew to read out her decrees as assigning loyal soldiers to lead each party. The missive instructed that a comprehensive map needed to be made, with routes planned to include all small towns from the boundary of the Westerlands to the coast.

“They are not to stop in any holdfast with means, they will be assessed on a case to case basis; I want to meet with them.” Daenerys added, and pushed it back for him to add the line; pleased with the efficient strategy. “Perhaps we could offer the quarry contracts to the Stormlands, Gendry has proven loyal to us and his bannermen have been quiet since we established him. I am sure the revenue would be welcome.”

“He may need time to reach our production requirements, but we can split the workforce. I will reach out to farmers from the small towns around King’s Landing who will not be planting in the winter to ensure the supply chain is manned when construction resumes.” Jorah agreed, rolling the letter and dripping wax upon it before firmly pressing his seal to the note.

Setting it to one side he reached for another sealed message and then nudged one towards her; Rhainys eagerly snatched it up and grinned gleefully at them.

“Are you helping little one?” Jorah asked quietly, taking a scroll that had already been opened and offering it to her as Daenerys prized the stolen one from her grasp.

“Paaa.” Rhainys cooed again, following it up with an excited stream of chatter; proudly waving her new prize about.

Her heart melted a little at the way Jorah smiled at their daughter over the scroll he was reading; there were not too many men who tolerate children interrupting their work as he did. In King’s Landing Fiona and Eva were regular visitors to his office, and though Rhainys distractions were louder he still did not become angry at them; taking a few moment to listen or see whatever they wished to show him. And last night he had seen how pleased he was to see Rhainys.

They worked quickly through the rest of the scrolls, trading them with Rhainys as they went, but most of the messages concerned the current situation. Though one was from Varys, the divorce she had bought had come through and the new Lady of Halloch had returned to her lands.

Given the circumstances of the divorce she might have preferred if Kalina had remained in the capitol. However she was certain Varys was capable of monitoring any situation that arose, he had a knack for getting spies into far more difficult places.

With their correspondence updated she turned Rhainys over to the maid and dressed, pleasantly surprised with Aoife returned and helped her to braid her hair; it had been so long since she’d had help with it. They went down to find Lyanna but Jorah left her at the hall, saying he would go down to the docks and give the fleet their orders. While he was comfortable here, knowing exactly where he was going she wished they’d the time to explore it together.

Lyanna was waiting in the hall and took her out to a pretty sunroom, its walls were made of pine logs with windows set into all sides, creating a huge space. A dividing wall of pine and stone separated the sitting room, but the majority of it was full of plants, warmed by the light filtering through the glass and the fireplace set between the two rooms. She peaked around the wall and was surprised to find plants growing well, the scent of the herbs perfuming the air despite the cold outside.

As they sat on sturdy chairs lined with furs, the floor of warm river stones warm beneath her feet Lyanna spoke. “My cousin did much of the labor for this room and it has helped to feed us every winter since. My mother used to tell me a story of how he and his wife fought over its construction. When they were fighting Jorah would find work to do, she had believed he built this as a gift for her, she wanted it to be a grand room and all he would give her was this sitting room. My mother and Aoife would tell you that the whole of Bear Island knew when Lynesse was made at their Lord; for they’d hear the fight and then Jorah would slip away to work. She never understood that in a small house such as ours leading is only one part of the work one must do.”

“I suppose so, but this is very nice.” Daenerys murmured, Jorah rarely talked about the woman who had abandoned him in the East; but clearly she was remembered here.

“Would you tell me of Bran Stark? What is to be done about him?” The girl was young, but efficient and moved quickly to business.

She nodded and began to explain everything that had happened beyond the wall, and cautiously explained that Bran had become trapped by the white walkers, their powers overwhelming his; but with the help of the Children of the Forest and the dragons all of the white walkers had been destroyed. She was careful how much she mentioned about the magic she had discovered, remembering how the Northerners could be; more details would certainly come out with time.


	18. Chapter 18

Jorah could not deny a strange feeling as he walked along the dock, this place felt as though he’d never left; and yet so many faces were different. Almost a generation of men had been lost in the wars for Westeros, men he had grown up with and fought with; it was their children he saw now.

Yara was on her ship and eagerly listened to his instructions and the news he shared, agreeing to prepare to sail; planning to leave with the turn of the tide. He rowed back with several of the Ironborn coming to shore to resupply for the journey.

He paused on the dock, spotting a familiar face working farther up the shore, Fergus had seemed an old man when he was Lord, now he sat patching the side of an overturned dingy; the man had a skill for boat building that was unmatched. A few years older than his own father, Fergus had a hand in almost every boat built upon Bear Island. Jorah crossed to him, laying a hand on his shoulder as he pulled a stool closer.

“Its been a few years milord.” The man muttered without looking up. “If the stories are true you shouldn’t have left us.”

“I did what I had to, what I believed was right.” He sighed; those were not memories he wanted to dredge up, they were close enough to the surface in simply being here.

“Maybe, and your aunt did what she had to, but now we’ve a child to lead Bear Island and while she may be strong, clever men with many more years at these games circle her.” Fergus finally glanced over at him, and Jorah frowned; something didn’t seem right here.

He knew that Lyanna was young, but she was a good girl, she listened to her advisors and her maester; she had been doing it for several years now. Yet he knew he had to be careful in how he got involved in the leadership structure here, the Islanders were proud Northerners and yet counted themselves distinct, forging their lives upon the sea. Lyanna had been born here and he had no doubt that her mother had instilled their way of life in her; his aunt knew how to groom a leader.

“What has changed?” He asked quietly.

“Our maester does the best he can, but there are only so many men with the fighting experience left to guide her; not all of them are honorable. Or Island born.” The last the man growled, and Jorah listened quietly.

Lyanna had lost her long-time advisor in the crypts of Winterfell when the wights breeched the holdfast; he did not know who had replaced the man. Clearly the replacement was not popular, and that could pose different problems for the community.

“Sire?” A man stepped between him and Fergus, forcing Jorah to look up at him; he did not miss the old boat builder’s snort. “Your majesty, I would be glad to escort you back to the hall. I believe the women are in the sunroom….”

“I’ll find my wife later, thank you.” He cut the man off and did not move from his spot. He and Fergus watched the man squirm for a moment before backing off, Jorah watched him move down the dock and hover; clearly intent upon waiting for him.

“Pleasant, isn’t he?” Fergus murmured.

“Lyanna’s new advisor? I don’t recognize him.” He murmured, the man was younger than him, maybe he’d seen thirty name days; but did not give him any confidence.

“No, her betrothed.” The man snarled, and Jorah felt a spike run down his back.

“Her choice?” He asked, trying to tamp down the anger that curled within him; Lyanna was little more than a child. Fergus only shrugged.

Jorah understood more than anyone that not all marriages were based on love, it was not uncommon for there to be many years between man and wife; he could say nothing on that. In the great houses politics would always come into it and a part of him twisted with hypocrisy at his thoughts; and yet his own marriage should offer Lyanna the option to choose. Politics and image had come into his own marriage, however that had been entirely Daenerys decision and they had already known each other well; they had a bond and common goal to build off of.

The man had staying power, he wanted something and waited at the foot of the path; Jorah watched him discreetly. Several men came over as the small boats came in from fishing for the morning, but they were grandfather’s introducing the children of men he’d grown up with; men who had died in the Northern rebellion.

As the docks got busy, men bringing up the catch, women came down to clean it and preparing gear for the next day, Jorah used the chaos to slip away. None called to greet the man trying to watch him, and the man who intended to be this Island’s next Lord did not move to help.

Jorah rounded the outbuilding that was used for dry dock repairs and storage, from there a foot trail, too narrow for a cart led up into the village and the holdfast; it worked just fine for him. He wanted to find maester Eithne, the man had been the maester on Bear Island since his father’s time; he’d come to their holdfast right after completing his training at the citadel.

Maester Eithne had come from somewhere in the crownlands, a second or thirdborn son of a lord; even by the time Jorah had become Lord the man counted Bear Island his home. And had worked hard to earn that right, Islanders had not made that easy for him and neither had the winters.

He was not surprised to find a fire roaring in the man’s chamber, and his presence brought the man to his feet. “Stay where you are.”

“Your Grace, what can I do for you?” His instruction did not stop the man from rising and rounding his desk. “I am sorry I did not see you before you went North.”

“We were moving on a tight timeline, but that is done. I have been trying to record some of what we saw, I will have Samwell Tarly send a complete record of what we know once it has been compiled; we need to do what we can to ensure that it is not lost to history.” Jorah took one of the chairs by the fire and the man dropped into the other.

“I would be happy to help you with the record; I have been trained in such matters…” The man looked concerned.

“Sam is competent, and he’s studied the histories. He cannot take the maester’s chains, but he is a scholar at heart. You’ve met him, at Winterfell.” Jorah countered, he did not intend to change those plans; but Eithne had always been a cautious man; rules mattered to him.

Eithne nodded, wisely realizing that he needed to leave that issue alone and Jorah bluntly asked who had replaced Lyanna’s previous advisor; and who she intended to marry. The maester’s reaction warned him of how he was going to feel about the answer, Eithne looked at his hands for a long moment.

“Marcus Prentsen, you may not remember him; he was here a time or two as a lad.” The man fell silent as Jorah stood quiet, that was a mistake in his opinion; yet there would be a reason Lyanna had made such a choice. But Marvin Prentsen he did remember, he had been a friendly foe of his father’s, they held the coastal lands to the South of Bear Island and while they were always in competition with each other they also shared a common problem; Ironborn raids.

“When did this happen?” He asked quietly.

“About four moons ago, it is being arranged, he is nearly twenty years older than her; though I do not know how much of a hand Marvin has in it. Marcus was his second son, the youngest child of eight children, but his brother died at the Twins with their men.” The maester’s voice revealed his own feelings on the matter and Jorah fought the revulsion he felt.

He truly had no right to speak on how the notion rubbed him the wrong way, the man was well older than Daenerys. The gap between him and Daenerys was greater, but she had been older and had already been a woman when they married. And his wife had made a calculated choice in him, he knew that, she had known exactly who he was.

The maester switched to the other part of his question, Kionen was Lyanna’s advisor now; that was a man he did remember. A solid strategist, though the man had never been pleasant to deal with. But Jorah saw a problem, the man had been born on Bear Island, but had fostered as a boy in the house of Lyanna’s betrothed. It was a coincidence that he did not like, he left the maester, intending to speak with his cousin, she was the only one who could give him the true details of this; and he wanted to catch her alone.

He skirted the hall that bustled in preparation for this evening, they had escaped the show and fuss by arriving so late last night; tonight, they would not be so lucky. The preparations were in full swing, but he did not see his cousin as he cut towards the smaller chamber off the corridor, it had been the office he and his father used, Jorah turned back as he heard his name.

“Where have you been? I thought you were at the docks, Lyanna and I walked down.” Daenerys caught up to him, her cheeks flushed from the cold as she came down the hall towards him; however, her face shifted to a frown as she saw his face. “What is wrong?”

“Has Lyanna said anything about getting married?” He asked quietly.

“No.” She murmured and then slid her hand into his, she motioned for her guards to fall back and stayed at his side. “I need to warm up before you show me around.”

He nodded, laying a hand on her back as they headed for the stairs and waited to discuss it until they were behind closed doors. In their chamber Daenerys eagerly began to unfasten her coat, turning around for him to help her pull it off as told her what he had learned.

“He is a Lord, or he will be when his father dies? Why would he want the responsibility of another holding?” She asked quietly, moving instinctively towards the fireplace.

“He is a minor Lord at best, I don’t know that their lands even account for as much acreage as the island.” He grumbled, and then pinched the bridge of his nose, he could hardly look at his wife right now.

She’d been only a few years older than Lyanna when he first met her, and while it had been years before they wed he’d grown to care for her as he got to know her; that he’d respected her felt like a poor excuse just now.

“What does she gain from this then?” Daenerys frowned and he knew her eyes were fixed on his back.

“I can’t see any gain for Bear Island, I will not watch her forced….”

“Jorah, you may not know her well, but I do believe you’ve known her enough to know that she will not be forced into anything. It is her reasoning we do not understand.” His wife cut him off and cleared her throat when he tried to interrupt. “She is Lady of Bear Island, she has been for some years now and has done the work of that title since she was a little girl. There is no one who holds the sway over her to sell her as a bride as my brother did; as countless men have done to their daughters.”

“Then why marry a man twice her age?” He snarled, the reaction on his wife’s face was not lost on him; but there was a stark difference between the situations. “You chose, you chose on your own and no one could change your mind.”

“Then ask, but ask her, do not fight with her.” She rose and crossed to the door, one of the guards dispatched with a word; Daenerys turned back to him. “If this is her choice, if she has her own reasons, whether you like them or not you will leave it alone.”

…

It was rare to see Jorah so irritated and yet she suspected it was mostly due to his own reaction; he liked nothing about this. And he did not hide it well, pacing as they waited for Lyanna, Daenerys watched quietly; she would not tell him that she didn’t like the idea either.

While they knew very little of the arrangements, she did not like the idea of the girl marrying so young; she knew just how difficult such a thing could be. And Jorah was right, it was strange that Lyanna had not said anything of it, they were family, certainly they would want to know; to at least send her a wedding gift.

She suspected Lyanna came forewarned for the girl did not look eager, and Daenerys quickly intervened; it was rare that she did not trust Jorah to handle a discussion. But in this case, she had two very stubborn people on a collision course; if they butted heads nothing would be accomplished.

“Your cousin and I were surprised to hear that you have been betrothed.” She shot her husband a glance; they did not need to add tension to this. That she had spent the morning with the girl and heard nothing gave her doubts of her own. “I would hope that this is news you would share.”

“Why?” Jorah asked, his voice calmer than she had expected.

“It is the best route forward that I can see.” Lyanna murmured, pausing, discomfort clear on her face.

“Does this make you happy? What is in it for you?” Daenerys asked before Jorah could.

“It is not about me, any more than it was about either of you. It is about Bear Island…”

“No, in this you are giving Bear Island away.” Jorah cut her off, his voice revealing his irritation; though Lyanna might not know him well enough to recognize it.

“If I do not do something I will, and I will not let that happen. My second child will inherit the seat of Bear Island, our debts will be forgiven as a man can hardly hold his wife in debt for lands they jointly lead. This way our people will be safe!” Lyanna shot back, fire in her voice mirrored upon her face.

“You are cousin to the King of Westeros, kin to me and blood to the next Queen; your people are in no danger.” Daenerys began gently, needing the girl to understand that though they may be far away they would allow nothing to threaten this place. It would be tolerated no more than an attack upon Dragonstone; their ancestral houses must stand.

“Who has put such notions in your head? Bear Island will not remain independent in this scheme, it will be absorbed into that mainland slum before you leave this world. Your second child might occupy the holdfast but there would no longer be a seat of Bear Island; at least not until your own people threw your child back into the sea. Prentsen’s have been trying for generations to get their claws into us, life on the coast is easier than it is here; but we are harder people. We stay ourselves against the raids and the storms; they cower and cry to the Warden.” Jorah snarled the last of that, and Daenerys rose, crossing to him; she had never seen that sort of reaction from him.

But she also understood this marriage threatened something generations of his family had built, had fought and died to protect and fortify; something he had paid a great price for. And he was right, that Lord was likely already counting these lands as his, no matter the promises he’d made to Lyanna. The proud and stubborn girl might not truly see the value her standing held; she was a more valuable bride than she knew. And while Bear Island accepted female leaders, Daenerys was not sure they knew how to plan for their future; to ensure that House Mormont survived under its proper name.

“I don’t have a choice, you know we barely break even, in summer the payments were manageable, now, I can hardly pay with the food we produce; and we need the supplies we’ve been allotted. The men need food to fight the sea ice and the frigid waters to fish. And goods are preferred as winter promises to drag on…”

“I squared our debts before I left. The gold and..” Jorah interrupted again, his tone softening though; she knew he did understand.

“And my mother had to take out her own when the summer frosts came, when she threw our support behind Rob Stark there was a price, as there was when marching what remained of our forces to Jon Snow. War is bloody expensive, and only women and children were left to tend the harvest.” Lyanna did not wait for him to finish. “If I fall behind on payments, I will lose it all, and I will not allow anyone to take Bear Island from me; you know how our people would respond if I had to default. I will not sacrifice them for matters that fall to me.”

The fire in the girl’s eyes was powerful and Daenerys knew this was not a decision made lightly, it was also one that was well thought out. But for the fact Jorah was right, House Mormont would disappear, if not in one generation then two. And her husband had made a sacrifice of his own, while they shared the emblems of their houses Jorah had effectively given up his house to resurrect her birthright; to make her dream possible.

Through their children the Targaryen line, her House has been restored; but his had to continue as well. She owed him that much, and Lyanna needed a man with a similar will; and whether the girl knew it or not Jorah gave her a gift as well. In standing at her side he gave Lyanna a security and assurances the girl did not seem to recognize. For one, that he would back her claim as Lady of Bear Island, as by rights he could have reclaimed the title for himself; but also, this Northern Island had great significance in the heart of the most powerful man in Westeros.

This mainland house angling for Lyanna’s hand could never hope to take Bear Island by force, a possibility that was certainly available to them a few years ago; the garrison here would see to that. And in that marriage the man gained a great deal of prestige that the girl did not seem eager to grab hold of; given her betrothed’s attempt to catch Jorah he was.

“No one will take it from you, but this marriage cannot go ahead; you will not sell yourself to pay a debt. Jorah has not considered it yet, but the gems decorating his armour would likely pay your debts several times over. To square them is nothing but a point of pride between family.” Daenerys murmured, bringing the gaze of both cousins to her; she did not like to give the girl an ultimatum, but she knew what that life could be. “I told Jorah if you came in here with reasons of your own, that you believed this man to be a good partner, that you had some venture with him or even if you had come to love him, then we would congratulate you. But that is not the case, tell me now, will this man be good to you? As a woman and a wife? Will he be good to your people? Because you cannot lead if you are fighting to make your voice heard, for the authority you possess by blood; or to make peace with a man who does not treat you well.”

Lyanna was silent and Daenerys caught Jorah’s eye, silencing any comment he had in mind. “When did he arrive? Before, or after he learned that we would be coming here? That we had entrusted you with our daughter? Has he been here to learn of this place and its people or is he looking to make connections?”

The girl was silent still, and that silence was answer enough. She was young to bear such weight, but Daenerys knew she was strong enough, making her own decision to enter a purely political marriage, even for the wrong reasons, was proof of that again. They would pay Bear Islands’ debts, the profit they made from Dragonstone’s mines meant they would do it privately. She was carefully working to build the crown’s wealth, buying, and selling certain things to re-establish it after the Lannisters had so completely destroyed it; and she was seeking other avenues of income. However, she would not insult Lyanna by simply offering charity.

As Jorah tried to impress on her the man she should be seeking out, a second or thirdborn son, yes, a man to give her a valuable alliance; but a man who had no title in his own right. A man who would embrace the Mormont house, as he had the Targaryen for his wife; that way her children would be born Mormonts and the house would live on in its true name. And he was right, there were young men who had few opportunities beyond knighthood or the citadel because of their birth, unless they married.

“Do not shy from your connection to us, you may not want to use it as a crutch and that is commendable. But all of Westeros is aware of it, and if you are not using it, if you are not armed with it then they will try to use it; as this man is doing. We stand behind House Mormont, with you as its Lady and leader, not the man you marry.” Daenerys murmured, taking Lyanna’s hands, by affiliation alone they had drawn this girl deeper into the political workings of this nation.

“I cannot pay my debts today, or even in the…”

“I will take care of him.” Jorah growled, and she sensed it was a task he would enjoy.

“No, it is not your place, let Lyanna do it in her own time.” Daenerys countered, knowing Lyanna had been about to argue. “What you will do is fix a problem I am sure you considered once before, sit with your cousin, the maester and counsel; find an industry for Bear Island. Something the North needs, something Westeros needs, and we will make an investment in it to get you started; expecting the first products be sold to the crown.”

Lyanna and Jorah both nodded, Daenerys was sure if the people who knew this island best sat down and put their heads to it, with some capitol to start with they could come up with something to provide Bear Island security. Even if building a second sun house was the start, the glass would be expensive, but the benefits were undisputable.

“I will dissolve the arrangement as soon as I can. My advisor will not be pleased, but my maester will; as will my people.” Jorah stepped out of the room to see Rhainys and gave her a moment alone with his cousin.

“How do you feel about it?” She asked gently, the rest of it didn’t matter to her too much.

“I don’t know. I suppose I should set up that meeting with my men; my cousin knows our maester well.” Lyanna murmured and slipped quickly from the room.

Daenerys rose and crossed to the nursery, she found Jorah leaning against the window ledge; Meera sat in the rocking chair holding Rhainys. The teenager loved Rhainys, it was something Daenerys treasured; a bond she hoped to encourage. The girl had lost a great deal in life, but she was strong and smart.

“Would you watch her for us for a little while? Jorah had promised to show me around, I intend to take him up on it before we are made prizes to ogle at tonight.” She knew the young maid would be around somewhere, but there was no reason Meera had to stay tucked up in here with her; this was place was a part of Rhainys too.

Meera smiled a little and nodded, Jorah took her hand as they left the girls; her husband guided her down the stairs but turned back towards a chamber she had not entered. It led out around the back of the hall and onto a well-worn path.

“We share the well with the village, always have, my father used to say that way the maintenance fell onto us; ensuring everyone always had water. There have been many lean years where we haven’t had much, but there is always fish; and when winter gets cold that holdfast has sheltered us all.” There was pride in his voice as she told him about it, the path forked, and they climbed up hill.

He told her of a winter in his childhood when the wind whipped across the island and his father brought the whole of the village up into the hall, bunking down to weather the storm. This was a small holding but she liked that, she liked how close they were and as they wove between the trees she realized she could see the village through the trees and as they came out on a rise she realized they would have a view of the whole island.

They could see clear to the coast, that holdfast might not cut the imposing picture of Winterfell or Dragonstone, but it belonged there; built of stone and the trees that grew close together here. Some must be hundreds of years old, and yet they grew plentiful here.

“For every tree we cut, we plant two more. They are our livelihood; we use them to build our boats and our homes; to heat every home.” Jorah told her, but his voice was quiet, and she looked up to find him looking down at the holdfast with a look in his eye he usually saved for her. He truly loved this place and she was glad to see a little bit of it through his eyes.


	19. Chapter 19

Jorah sighed and reached for his cup again, he sat between his wife and the man who still believed himself to be Lyanna’s betrothed. The pest kept trying to make conversation with him, Jorah was careful to keep that shut down; and his glare found a man watching him nervously more than once. Kionen knew exactly what he’d done and did not seem comfortable now that he didn’t have so much influence.

Jorah suspected the man had planned to use Lyanna’s pride and independence to see the marriage done before there could be outside interference; to bad for him that hadn’t happened. The bubble would be burst for both men when Lyanna was ready. Bear Island would remain with House Mormont, in time his cousin would find a suitable husband. 

Tomorrow he would sit down with Lyanna and her advisors, that would be an interesting meeting and yet he didn’t have any great ideas to suggest. Though he played a few things through his mind, the problem came back to their resources; they had to be careful not to tax what they had. Many houses were feeling the strain, having stretched their resources to the breaking point; conservation was drilled into Bear Islanders because it was necessary.

If they could find a way to balance that, to avoid depleting their natural resources or pushing their men past the breaking point. However, with some capitol there was the possibility of pulling in outside resources, perhaps from somewhere beyond their usual contacts. Given the pressure that had been applied to Lyanna by those close to her, and by their neighbors, he wanted to encourage some broader connections.

The evening wore on, the children were gone, his cousin the youngest left, making conversation with his wife as those in the hall got drunker and louder. A fiddler had picked up a tune and some had begun to dance, he knew how this would go, and privately decided to sneak his wife away once it got later; some of these people could go until dawn.

For now, she seemed to be enjoying herself, that she was leaning close to hear Lyanna as her eyes tracked one of the men dancing a jig of sorts between the tables. It was made more entertaining by the man next to him shooting daggers at them, Prentsen had tried to get the seating changed earlier, then tried talking to him; Jorah ignored him.

He would do his own digging on this man; Marcus was irritating but last he’d heard Marvin Prentsen still lived and stood as Lord of that holdfast. However, from all appearances it was his son who was running things now, and there were only a few reasons that would happen without a formal step down.

One of the dancers moved drunkenly to the top of a table to the cheers of the hall and made it all of two minutes before stumbling off the edge into the crowd. Jorah smirked as he took a swig of ale, watching as the man tried again, this time with a friend; hopefully the table would hold.

He was watching the antics when his wife’s hand slid over his shoulder, pulling gently, Jorah took it as his cue to rise; she was ready to go. Easing back so that he bumped into her side and shifted a hand to her back; Daenerys turned from the stairs.

“Where are the couples sneaking off to?” She asked, mischief in her voice.

“Their beds, if they can get that far.” Most wouldn’t, they wouldn’t try; even in winter they would find shadows in between here and the village.

“That’s not what your cousin told me.” His wife tipped her head back to grin at him, and Jorah shook his head, everyone on Bear Island knew what happened after celebrations, after a certain age most participated.

The cold air hit them as they stepped out into the yard, the path that led down to the well; and down to the village was lit by lanterns. Daenerys tried to step off the path and gasped as she sank to her knee, breaking off in giggles as he pulled her back.

“The path is compacted, go farther up; the children play in the woods during the day.” He smiled at her antics, he hadn’t noticed her drinking heavily, but he was wondering how much she’d had.

Though he saw a few spots where couples had already braved the drifts, sneaking away to find their privacy. He found a good place and stepped off the trail first, lifting Daenerys into his arms, her giggles mischievous as she squirmed against him. Jorah found himself grinning as he pressed her back to the trunk of a tall tree, her hands already wreaking havoc.

…

Jorah half carried her to their bed that night and Daenerys was not sure she had ever slept so well but when she woke, she found Rhainys tucked between her and her husband. She smiled as she looked up into blue eyes, he was wide awake, and she realized he’d been watching them sleep; his hand still tangled in her hair.

“Good morning.” He whispered, leaning in to kiss her.

Last night had been fun, all of it, and while she knew she’d enjoyed the feast far more than Jorah she could see how happy he was here. She’d suspected he would enjoy having a part in keeping those secret traditions alive and knew that he had; even if she had been giggling and cold it had been worth it.

“I don’t know that I want to leave.” She smiled, rubbing Rhainys’ chest, their daughter still slept soundly; warm and safe. There were problems here, there were problems everywhere; and yet there was such a sense of community and family.

“We’ve a day or two before the fleet arrives; maybe one more depending on how fast the Unsullied make it to the coast.” Jorah murmured, but she saw it in his face; he was enjoying this time.

“Is it wrong to hope for a storm?” She sighed, and saw his smile; but he did not comment.

“I have that meeting this morning; however, I do not have any great ideas for that.” He made no move to get up but winced and she glanced down to see Neveah hopping up his leg.

“I am going to go for a walk with our daughter and Meera.” She grinned, reaching out to stroke the young dragon who dipped her head, intending to check on the babe they all loved so much. “I know there is no longer a threat to her life, but I want Meera to come South with us.”

“I know you do.” Jorah smiled at her and leaned in to kiss her before he rose; the small dragon tumbled from her perch with an unhappy screech.

Daenerys only stretched a little more, pulling Rhainys closer as their daughter woke; blinking as she looked about. As Jorah dressed, Aoife arrived, and Daenerys got up to get ready herself; passing Rhainys to the woman as she fastened her coat.

“I am going to take a walk this morning. Would you join me?” Aoife was an interesting woman, she saw many qualities of Lyanna in her, of Maege too if Jorah’s memories were considered; qualities she attributed to the women of Bear Island.

“Certainly, Your Grace.” The woman agreed, though Daenerys saw her hesitate; likely considering the tasks she needed to shift for such an activity.

“I need to find Meera. Should we meet in the courtyard?” She asked, linking the dragonhead chain about her coat.

Jorah paused and walked out with Aoife, speaking quietly to her before slipping away. She snuggled Rhainys into her warm coat and a soft fur, then found Meera; letting the young woman take Rhainys into her arms. But in the courtyard, she watched as a horse trotted in, Lyanna returning from the road that led to the docks; her betrothed waited for her and Daenerys met the girl’s eye.

Lyanna did not look worried, dismounting and handing off her reins, stepping wide of the hand that tried to grab her arm. The girl walked quickly towards the hall, ignoring the man who stayed with her, she wondered if he had been some unpleasant news this morning; but Lyanna did not seem upset.

“The King suggested you might like to walk up to the grove.” Aoife joined them, though she eyed the young dragon that sat upon Daenerys’ shoulder; Neveah leaned into her neck, not pleased with the cold.

“Lead the way.” She smiled, she wanted to see the places that Jorah had walked as a child; this place that had shaped him into the man who led beside her.

It was a nice winter day, clear and cold, they set off down the trail towards the well, through the village and then into the woods beyond until they came to a rise. They stood above an inlet on the coast, tall pines stood on the ridge but as the land sloped down the leaves turned red and Daenerys smiled; she knew why Jorah wanted her to see this place.

“Weir woods grow well here, our legends say this Northern shore used to receive mysterious visitors who carefully carved the faces in the weir woods here. When they stopped coming the faces were no longer carved and so we know which trees are the oldest. It is in this grove our people come to speak with the old gods.” Aoife led the way down among the trees.

Daenerys smiled, following as she eyed the trees, almost all these trees were ancient, not what they saw on the Isle of Faces; but tall and strong. However, as she looked, she saw no faces carved upon their trunks and knew that they were not the oldest, not until they approached the shore.

Before many of these trees there were benches, and she saw spots where not even snow was allowed to rest; people came here often. At the shore there were faces, some with tears and others morphed as if screaming in anguish; these were the trees dating back to a time Auna had told her of.

She felt Meera’s gaze on her and wondered if her desire to sit upon one of these benches was so obvious; to slip away into the world. It was in that place deep in the Lands of Always Winter she had harnessed her dreams, beginning to understand her magic, but there were so many things she longed to know; to see other places today and in the past. Meera and Aoife continued but Daenerys stopped, tracing her fingers along the trunk of one of the ancient trees; and she heard the beat of dragon’s wings above. Her sons sensed her desire as well.

But Daenerys did not allow herself to drift, she was not sure how the Northern woman would feel about her magic; and did not want to create a problem. Still, the draw was there, stronger now for having seen this place. And they walked through the grove, following the coast back towards the docks; she saw small boats rocking on the sea.

…

Lyanna had still not dissolved the betrothal and he glared at the man who sat across from him at the counsel table. While her advisor would not meet his eyes maester Eithne did, eagerly focusing upon the topic of discussion. Prentsen groused, muttering that if an industry had not enriched Bear Island yet, then there wasn’t one to be found.

Jorah glared at him and then chose his words carefully. “Industry requires financing which winter and war has always eroded our financial stability. However new alliances provide new opportunities.”

That earned him a glare from his cousin, but Marcus Prentsen no longer looked so comfortable. It started a tense discussion between the maester and Prentsen; Lyanna ended it. “There is a possibility, one I think could be viable given the need for travel and the Ironborn have stripped their lands of wood; and most of their ships were sunk when the Queen took King’s Landing.”

“Our ships are second to none.” The maester agreed eagerly.

“They are, and it is needed; we’ve few skilled ship builders in the south; they build for calm seas and with the Queen’s holdings in the East our vessels will make the trip across the Narrow Sea more than ever.” But Jorah hesitated to endorse it, thinking of the situation Yara found herself in, the Ironborn lands had been stripped and the ships were poor quality or lost. “However, Bear Island cannot be allowed to deplete its natural resources.”

“Our ships have to withstand the Northern seas; we have the skills; we will find the resources.” Lyanna stated, her eyes scanning each of the men sitting at the table.

Two remained quiet and Jorah watched them, he knew one sensed that something was wrong; Kionen was not a foolish man. He was not sure Prentsen sensed the position he was in yet, and Lyanna was shrewd to include him in this; but he still wanted to see the man gone.

As Eithne discussed the construction and work required to prepare for such a venture, Jorah was quiet, recognizing that he could not become too involved in the foundations of this project; he could not remain to see it through. His projects waited in the capitol, and he knew after so much time away he would not be able to keep too many extra commitments; the best he could offer was advice and funds. But Lyanna and her maester were planning and knew who they needed to draw in for the work. Masons and builders to create the workspace, Fergus and his assistants to determine what features and equipment would be needed; and to draw up plans for the ships.

The morning had slipped away from them before the meeting finished and Jorah went looking for his wife; certain even the draw of the grove would not have kept her out in the cold this long. Daenerys was much like her dragons, while her small frame served as his personal heat source each night he knew she still felt the cold.

And he found her before a fire, listening raptly to Meera, in the doorway he listened for a few moments; a story about her own adventures beyond the wall. Rhainys bounced upon her mama’s knee, contently winding a long curl about her little fist.

Jorah crossed to his wife, laying his hands on her shoulders a moment, dipping to free her hair from Rhainys’ grasp. “How was your walk this morning?”

“You could have told me about the grove.” She murmured, her smile in place, but he saw something uneasy in her eyes. “Meera and I were discussing our journey South.”

“I want to come with you Your Grace, I promise I will serve you well. I can fight, I will learn to be better, from the Unsullied and the Dothraki; I can protect the Princess.” The girl began, her expression sincere; ready to fight her place. And left Jorah to switch gears quickly, his mind still on his wife and what he wanted to ask her; what he needed to tell her about the meeting this morning.

“Meera was telling about her half siblings, when her father joined Rob Stark he left her step mother in charge; that is how Meera and Jojen were able to slip away. Her father’s second wife has given him several children.” Daenerys added, answering one concern they’d had regarding taking Meera from her home permanently. It had been so long since he left the region that he had not known the family line of House Reed; but they knew one child had already been lost.

“It will be better for everyone if my father does not have to choose who to name, his wife will want her son named. I hardly know my half siblings, the eldest was an infant when we left, the second is little more than a toddler now and she’s to have another. I will not have a purpose there, but I can have one. I can protect her…” Meera jumped in, eagerly looking between them.

“It is not a question of your ability.” Jorah stopped her quickly, they had settled that long before they came North; he glanced to his wife before continuing. This had been on her mind, but he hadn’t known she intended to address it so quickly. “But Meera, you’ve been raised in a great house, you can serve as far more than a guard or soldier. And I would ask that of you, especially as Rhainys is only a babe. Our daughter will one day face a very difficult task, and the simple fact of the matter is that she will face it on a day when her mother and I are no longer at her side. She may still be grieving her mother as she must place the crown upon her head, I would rather she did not face that task alone, with nobles and leeches pulling at her. We would be honored if you would take the position as her confidant, and companion.”

The girl nodded eagerly, and Daenerys reached out for her hand, Jorah hadn’t had a chance to run that offer past his wife; but it was the best proposition he could think of. Meera was enough older than Rhainys to be make a good advisor, but young enough to learn, to be taught the matters of ruling, how to deal with the court and many methods of battle. However, what mattered more was the girl herself, she was looking for a place to belong and already adored their daughter; that bond could be nurtured right along with both girls.

“Can we leave her with you for a little while?” Daenerys asked, rising from her spot, and as Meera reached out passed Rhainys over; before snuggling back into her spot.

He lay a hand on her back as they passed through the corridor, their guards falling back a few paces; he quickly updated her on the meeting this morning. She led, and they wound their way up the stairs to their chamber, Jorah frowned but didn’t comment; it wasn’t like her to return to quarters in the middle of the day. It was far too early to dress for dinner.

But as Daenerys nudged him towards the bed he realized what she wanted and was slightly surprised. Jorah sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the fastenings on his coat as she straddled his thighs. “Why didn’t you warn me about the grove?”

“I thought you would like it.” He frowned, she pulled the short blade from his belt but put it in his hand and Jorah quickly opened the scar on his collarbone. He had thought Daenerys would like to see the grove, to see that the promise she had made to the Children of the Forest was not a distant goal in the North where the old faith was still honored. “Many of the holdfasts in the North will be eager to honor your pledge.”

“That is good.” She murmured, he rested a hand on her back as her mouth sealed over the cut.

She was shifting in his lap and after a moment Jorah placed his hands on her hips to still her; it was enough to make her look up at him. But this was not the right moment for the reaction she was drawing from him, and Jorah was concerned about her reaction.

“I am glad to have seen the grove, but I wish I knew what I was walking into.” She sighed, pausing a moment to dip to his chest once more and when she lifted her head, he knew she was finished; rubbing her lip to remove the last trace. “Jorah, I can’t escape the draw of my magic, it pulls at my dreams and when I walk beneath a weirwood it become a pounding in my chest; I want to walk through it.”

“Jorah, I hold Rhainys and I wonder about my own mother, I want to walk into the past and see her to see if I look like her, if our daughter looks like her. I want to see if my father was all that men say he was, or if there was something that happened to him; if there was a time he was good. To see how valyrian steel was made, and where the dragons’ eggs of the world remain; hatchlings waiting for life.” She continued and he heard the longing in her voice and ran a hand through her hair; he should have recognized that.

“I am sorry, I had not thought of that.” He said, feeling a little upset that he had not connect that, they were both trying to understand the effects of magic upon her life. It was a new element to them both, giving context to something they had long known of, she’d dreamed since the Dothraki Sea but now they were understanding the power there; she did not simply dream.


	20. Chapter 20

It was another day before their fleet put to anchor off Bear Island and Daenerys had mixed feelings as the preparations were made for their journey. She had enjoyed their time here and exploring the place that had been her husband’s home; getting a sense of the people that had first influenced his life. They would come back, someday when Rhainys was old enough to remember her papa’s home, and get to know her kin here.

Early this morning they had all been made aware of the dissolution of Lyanna’s betrothal, the man had not taken it well. She and Jorah had been in the courtyard and her husband had moved quickly; Daenerys knew he intended to settle the matter. But he did not need to, the matter was made clear and several of her own men moved to Lyanna’s side, standing with their lady. Her husband had stopped and watched as the man was told to leave, but it was the lady of Bear Island and her men who asked. Daenerys would not interfere, but once things stabilized in the South, she might invite Lyanna Mormont down to spend a little time in the capitol; and introduce her to a few suitable young men.

Either way, the man left Bear Island before the Ironborn sails were spotted on the horizon and none seemed sorry to see him go. Jorah disappeared as Daenerys sat with her daughter, Aoife joined them and repeated a few of the jokes from the docks as the ship set off for the mainland. It simply cemented the fact in her mind that the man had no true interest in this place.

Yara came ashore before the evening meal as the garrison reclaimed their quarters, and the men of Bear Island reunited with their families. The Greyjoy leader seemed content to be on land and pleased to hear of the plans for Bear Island.

“I’ll be glad to return to warmer waters for a little while, we’ve a few repairs that need a proper dry dock; the growlers are bad this winter.” Yara reported, pausing to drink deeply from her cup of ale.

“Chunks of sea ice, and pieces broken off of ice burgs that float in the water; they can do a lot of damage very quickly.” Jorah explained after Daenerys shot him a questioning look; she’d never heard that term before. “We usually only see them in winter, and they are more of a threat to small fishing boats than the galleys, but the sea ice is thick this winter.”

Yara agreed, muttering about the problems of the sea in winter, and her husband added a few of his owns stories. It was interesting how the Islanders lived similar lifestyles, living on Northern Islands they shared many of the same challenges and were forged stronger from it; though they had long been foes. She had noticed it as the Ironborn came ashore, they might be welcomed here but the Islanders had not forgotten; Jorah’s kin was cautious. It would take time to mend bridges between these great houses, just as it would between the kingdoms and the men of them. Every step forward was progress.

The sea captain then told them of a message she had received by raven, one of her crews had been attacked at sea as they carried supplies to the Riverlands. Yara did not seem to be too concerned, so she hoped the injuries and damages had been minimal; the Ironborn could hold their own in a fight.

“We’ll find out what it is about in a few days.” Jorah commented, they would be sailing south through those same waters on their way to King’s Landing. “Have you begun resupplying?”

She left the details to Jorah and Yara, and took the time to escape, leaving the holdfast for a little while she walked down to the shore where her children rested and was greeted eagerly. Drogon sniffed her over carefully, looking towards her guards with an almost hopeful flint to his eyes; no doubt hoping for a lamb or cow to be led down.

But the beach was littered with various charred bones that told her the dragons were doing just fine fishing for themselves; as they grew the size of the fish and sea creatures they were able to catch became amazing. They might not enjoy working for their meals, especially in the cold waters, but she could not tax Bear Islands’ supplies in such a way. At home she would supplement their meals again, and ensure they got plenty of lamb; a favorite since they were hatchlings. Besides it might be a good thing, the fish the dragons caught were far larger than anything the Islanders would try for, and one charred skull looked like the ones that were mounted outside the great hall; bears here were numerous.

Rhaegal nudged his way in, making irritated clicks low in his throat to let his brother know he was frustrated; Daenerys leaned back, tucking herself into his cheek. The silver and green dragon had always been slightly smaller than his brother but that did not dull his personality, or his fire. Still she scolded him as he tried to turn his head and tuck her into his shoulder; his huge nostril pressed to her belly.

Still she couldn’t help but laugh at the sibling rivalry, today Drogon did not push him back. Neveah was so much younger that she might never match them in size or share the close bond they had; but she knew eventually her daughter’s purple dragon would join them. Hopefully as possessive and fierce as these two were. Noting her guards shifting uneasily Daenerys realized how late it was getting and reluctantly headed back to the hall.

The hall was full tonight, the men of the garrison, and families of Bear Island all piled in; as did the crew of the Ironborn ships. Jorah shifted easily, his hand sliding to her back as he finished his meal and sat back to watch the room. To any who didn’t know him, he looked relaxed, enjoying a drink; Daenerys knew better.

The power structure of Bear Island had been disrupted today and he’d already given her his opinion on Kionen; the advisor who had arranged Lyanna’s betrothal. The advisor would not be so secure in his place today, and it would be interesting to see where he turned now, and though they would leave in the morning Jorah would keep himself informed of the situation here.

Yara sat at the high table as well, and her stories became more colorful with the amount of ale she consumed; Daenerys and Lyanna listened raptly. Given nearly all of Bear Island were sailors everyone was well used to the language, they understood some of the stories a little more than she did.

As things began to wind down Daenerys slipped away, pausing in the nursery, Rhainys and her maid already sound asleep. The purple dragon watched her with glowing eyes, no doubt hoping for a treat; Neveah could no longer curl neatly over Rhainys’ feet as she used to. Instead she folded herself in to take up the whole foot of the cradle, determined that she would not sleep away from her human.

In their chamber Daenerys unfastened her coat and sighed, ready to settle for the night; they would leave with the tide this morning. The voyage home would be long enough, they had been away too long already; and there were things that needed to be dealt with. She removed her dress and snuggled into bed as Jorah read the last of the ravens’ messages from home. He sat by a lamp and she watched him for a few moments, snuggling beneath the warm furs and closing her eyes.

It was late when she felt the feather mattress shift, she knew Jorah would come to bed in his own time; but he sat on her side. His fingers tangling in her hair a moment before he pulled the furs back. “Wake up Daenerys.”

Cool air rushed over her and Daenerys squirmed. “Come to bed.”

“Wake up Daenerys, get dressed.” He murmured, blocking her hand when she reached for the furs. “I know you want to go to the grove.”

Those words reached her, and as she opened her eyes she realized Jorah was already dressed in his heavy coat, sword strapped to his hip; Neveah perched on his shoulder. When she sat up, he helped her quickly into her dress and coat, she sensed his urgency.

It was late, but six of the Unsullied waited outside their door, each holding a torch and their long spear; for that matter one hand her husband a spear as well. Jorah guided her through the corridors until they stepped out onto the path. “Are you that concerned about how your people will react?”

“No.” A quick smile crossed his face, but he shifted the spear in his hand. “Many of my people might be more accepting of it than you may think, but our home was named for a reason; in the interior there are likely as many bears as people living here.”

And quickly she realized why the long spears were so important, this trail, leading away from the holdfast and village that even at night remained well lit, was far more intimidating by night. The light from their torches lit a narrow path, but her husband walked confidently though the snow.

Until they came to the grove, the deep red leaves seemed almost to glow in the darkness, silently Jorah directed the Unsullied to fan out, forming a circle around one of the great trees. As Daenerys sat on a large root he set Neveah in her lap; taking a position directly in front of her.

“Take as long as you need.” He murmured, shifting the spear in his hands.

Stroking Neveah’s back she closed her eyes, she did not need the weirwood to slip away and yet it was a comfort to her. A tether, for she was certain that Auna would feel her here, perhaps the elder would join her in the past; the experienced seer would be welcome.

But as her mind drifted through a fog, a blur of images she spun, trying to see them; to place them. Some were her own memories, moments in the Dothraki Sea, in the East when she was a girl, then faces and places she did not know. They spun so fast she could not reach out to them and Daenerys felt a moment of panic, until she realized the constant in that fog was a purple shadow; Neveah was leading tonight.

They spiraled and Daenerys lost any sense of time or place, the images she saw were not recognizable to her anymore. Not until they slowed, and even then she did not know the place; but she sensed it. Walking along a smooth stone walkway by the river, she looked up at towering dragon statues that lined each side of the path; dragons soared through the sky.

The river was beautiful, and people walked up and down the path around her, acting as though they saw neither her nor the purple dragon soaring ahead; Daenerys was careful to step clear of any who got too close to her. But this was Valyria, Old Valyria sometime before the fall, when dragons still soared free.

She watched one land across the river, it had nearly the double the wing span of Drogon, but a child of maybe ten climbed down its wing and Daenerys paused to look at the harness and saddle that wrapped around the great creature. She had never ridden with a saddle or any straps and yet it was something to see, something to consider with the young purple dragon racing ahead of her; for when her daughter learned to ride.

Roaming the city she wondered at its beauty, so many questions coming to her mind and yet the darkness did not escape her; she saw those in gilded collars following their masters. They were the slaves of the rich, this place had been built upon slavery and thousands of years later she had overthrown vestiges of that mindset that had survived in the far reaches of their descendants. It was only a few years ago that Dragon’s Bay had been liberated, in other cities of Essos thousands remained enslaved. The doom had destroyed this city, but had not erased the impact it, and its ancestors’ impact upon the world.

Her ancestors, Daenerys thought, following a twisting staircase up into a heavily guarded building, she could sense them here. But as she entered a room lit by decorative dragon torches, the whole of it done in gold, silver and beautiful jewels; she had never seen a room so ornate.

But her attention quickly turned to the argument in the room, a man was demanding a share in goods, an import of some sort that had been lost, he felt it should be equally distributed; it took her only a moment to realize he was referring to slaves. She listened until she realized they were talking about slaves overthrowing a ship, they were sending others to recapture them, refusing to accept the loss.

“They will be destroyed, we cannot let their misadventure spread into the mines; they need no encouragement to waste their lives.” It sent a chill through her, to hear these people speak so callously about people who only wanted to live; to taste freedom. “Find some, make an example to keep them in line.”

Dread filled her belly as her a man wearing a gilded golden collar turned calmly to follow the order; but something jerked her from the room. She was in a great stone cavern and the sight before her was horrifying, Daenerys could not stop the screams that ripped from her throat.

“Daenerys!” Her husband’s voice wrapped around her, strong and steady. “Hush, it is only your magic. Daenerys you are on Bear Island.”

“It was so real, Jorah, it was not an execution it… it was worse than the road to Mereen.” She tried to explain, thankful to be looking up at her husband’s face; cast in shadow from the torch he carried.

…

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He was confused as to where she had been, or what she had seen; but right now, they needed to be careful. “Come, lets go back to the keep.”

She nodded, using his arm to pull herself up and Jorah eased her around to the trail; they needed to get moving. Her cries had echoed through the cold of the grove, but they were far enough from the holdfast that he did not want to deal with any wildlife. The problem with Westerosi winters was they were not a season long, the bears would have slept for the first few months of winter; but by now they would be out.

The Unsullied fell in quickly around them and Jorah led the way back towards the warm hold. He had wanted to give her this, the weirwood might not be necessary for her to travel, but it gave her a connection to those who had tried to help her understand her magic; it gave her something to hold onto.

And once they were warm in their chamber, the guards who had accompanied them rotated out to their own warm beds he held her close as she told him of what she had seen. She had been in ancient Valyria but did not seem excited about it; what she had seen had taken her back to the sins of the past. He held her close, it was in these moments her gentle heart shone through as she mourned people who had lived and died thousands of years ago and a current issue that would never be far from her mind.

It did not matter to her that thousands now knew freedom because of her, nor that new generations in those cities would never know lives of captivity. Yet the death of slave children, used to keep men and women trapped below ground from hoping for something better broke her heart.

By the time she told him of it, believing there was a purpose to this vision, she was exhausted and drifted off to sleep fitfully. Jorah sat up for a time, there was much she had already done but he knew it was not over for her; yet she needed to remain focused upon Westeros in this time. There were still many who try to wrench it from her hands.

However the North was secure, and her efforts in this Kingdom would not be forgotten, but as they prepared to leave early the next morning Jorah could not deny feeling a little disappointed; there had been a peace here that would evaporate as soon as they arrived in King’s Landing.

Rhainys however was delighted to be putting back to sea, and as the crew worked to take them out to sea, his wife and daughter walked the deck, chasing after Neveah who darted along the rail; screeching at the great dragons that soared high above them. Their daughter loved the water and they could be thankful that she traveled well, the journey back to the capitol would be long, but it would not be too difficult with a babe.

“It will be good weather to travel.” Yara commented, standing with him on the top deck; her eyes running up to the sails full of wind. “We’ll have to see what we run into in the South.”

“That will be interesting.” He murmured, though he did not expect they would have much trouble, with a unit of Unsullied and the Ironborn crew they had enough warriors to defend the ship. “How many reports have you had?”

“Several now, my fleet moves through the area regularly, goods for the Riverlands, the Westerlands and the North pass as the seas are a little gentler than along the east coast of the Stormlands where winds whip up out of nowhere.” The woman explained, and Jorah nodded, he’d reviewed those plans at one time as they were familiar.

The Crownlands served as a hub for some goods to be transferred overland to ships docked on the West coast to make deliveries that risked the ships or were easier access during winter. But that meant most journeys took those vessels around the coast of the Westerlands, and the Lannister’s holdings. Their orders regarding the Westerlands supplies were too new for these acts to be retaliation; so, it was something else.


	21. Chapter 21

The first several days at sea were peaceful, Rhainys wanted to be on deck and only fussed when they tried to keep her below. Jorah worked some in the mornings and it was easier if she sent Rhainys to the deck with her maid for a little while, they had to find a balance in their work again as they returned to the capitol.

But she knew some of Jorah’s work would not become part of the maester’s records. The events of the North would be passed on to Sam, to see that the history and magic they had learned of there was a record for future generations. However, she had noticed the second ledger he kept, one he worked in regularly, but kept close with his own pack. Jorah did not hide it from her, he was noting the powers he observed in her, the toll it took and details they learned. This morning he had spent some time recording his own questions and when he rose, heading up to see Yara, both expecting a storm to hit them this afternoon, he left the book open so she could slide into his spot.

At first this ledger had bothered her a little, but she understood it. This part of history had been lost for generations and while she might not want some of these details made public it was important to learn all they could now. For it impacted their lives, but it was only now that she realized the impact it had on her life since she was a girl and she first lay her hand upon a dragon egg; their children would go through the same things.

And given Neveah had been born with Rhainys their daughter may experience her magic at a younger age, they would need to be prepared to guide her though it. They needed to be able to protect their daughter, to teach her of her magic, of those who would fear it and of those who would try to harness it for their own gain.

She had read her husband’s notations in the margin, questioning if his blood could be used to soothe Rhainys as it did her magic. His notes gave her an insight into the progress he was making, being just as thorough in in this as he was in his work for the realm.

Suddenly she heard strange noises above their head, glancing back to her husband she saw him looking to the ceiling. The noises were coming from the main deck, but Jorah moved to the wall, laying his hand upon the wall; and then quickly reaching for his sword.

“Stay down here, bar the door and keep it locked.” Her husband instructed.

“No!” She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Rhainys is out there, Jorah; nothing can happen to her.”

“Nothing will happen to her, but nothing is going to happen to you either.” Jorah argued, loosening her grip on his arm. “Bar this door Daenerys.”

Jorah stepped through the door and gave orders to the men on the other side of it, one stepped in with her and lowered the board across the door; Daenerys gave him a cold glare. She was trapped down below, and she had no idea what was going on above decks, but her daughter was up there; and now so was her husband.

Within a few moments she heard shouts, and the sounds of a fight, Daenerys paced unhappily, longing for the door to open; for the maid to carry her daughter through or for Jorah to send Meera to her. Instead she remained down here, alone.

…

Jorah snarled as the bell rang out from the top deck, he joined the men flowing up to face whatever was happening up there. He found Meera on the stairs, joining the men, and taking her by the scruff of the neck he passed her off to the first Unsullied soldier he met. “You aren’t even finished training yet, the Ironborn can handle this.”

Meera protested, but there was not time to waste and at first, he was surprised to see Yara at the top of the stairs; until he saw she sheltered the maid carrying Rhainys. Men parted quickly to let the young woman pass and as she passed him, he lay a hand on his daughter’s head; she would be safe below. And as soon as she passed, they all pressed forward, to support the crew on deck.

As he stepped clear of the stairs, he eyed the deck. It was a grey and stormy day, but the winds were low and he knew they had been moving slow today, they’d just come around the headland when they were overrun, but Jorah quickly realized this wasn’t a fight. At least not a fair one, the first man slashed at him with scythe meant for cutting crops; he knocked it away with his broadsword and cracked him over the head with the pommel.

“Subdue them!” Jorah shouted, trying to make himself heard over the clashing of steel and grunts of the fight.

But Yara heard and added her voice to his call, and the men obeyed as much as they could under attack. He focused on those around him, trying to press towards the rail and stem the flow of men coming over the side.

“He bit me!” Suddenly a loud curse turned him from the rail, and he saw a man lunge at one of the Unsullied, realizing the man was trying to do the same thing. Jorah twisted and punched the man in the side of the head to knock him away from the soldier who was trying to fight him off with the staff of his spear.

He knew the order he had given posed a challenge for the men defending the ship, but these were not warriors, and he was not sure what had possessed them to attempt boarding an Ironborn vessel. Weight suddenly landed upon his back and as he twisted to pitch it off arms wrapped around his neck and pain exploded in neck.

“Duck.” The Unsullied who had just regained his feet called, turning spear in his hands and swinging it like a bat.

Jorah lowered his head, and reached back to gain purchase upon his opponent, hauling him up as the shaft of the spear came down; with a groan the man pitched left and slumped on the deck. His heavy coat had protected him from serious injury but glancing down he saw the limp man had a knife stuffed in his belt; Jorah could not think of a reason to choose his teeth over the weapon.

As they worked to contain the men on the deck one of the Unsullied knelt and pulled a canteen from one of the men who lay unconscious, sniffing it with a frown before holding it out to him. “It smells strange.”

“It’s sea water, no wonder they’re half mad.” He sighed, recognizing the smell immediately through the strong whiff of ale that it had likely held before.

He passed the canteen to Yara as his wife stepped onto the deck, the Unsullied at her side dipped his head, but Jorah ignored it; he knew the man had done well to hold her off as long as he did. Daenerys made for him and he eyed those on the deck between them; she did not need to have the same experience he had.

“You’re bleeding.” His wife muttered, reaching up to touch his neck and Jorah caught her hand.

“It is only a scratch. We’ve something else to deal with just now.” He turned her towards the deck where the Ironborn were moving their prisoners and clearing the deck; several slid over the sides to deal with any who remained in the small boats below.

Some were simple long row boats, others had been scrambled with a single sail but none were in good condition and he saw one of the Ironborn shake his head; he didn’t even try to get into the next boat sitting low in the water. Jorah watched for a moment as cold water was poured over some of their prisoners to rouse them, and the casualties moved aside, a few had been unavoidable.

“Keep your distance Daenerys, they’ve run out of supplies and resorted to drinking from the sea.” He kept her close as he took a moment to sheath his sword.

“They do not look like much of a threat. They’re hardly more than skin and bone, it is a wonder they didn’t freeze on the sea.” She murmured, easing closer, her eyes running over each man.

“Some did.” Yara joined them, and he was pleased to see that she flanked Daenerys, these men might be weak but desperate men could never be underestimated. “Those who stayed in their boats do not look too lively.”

The experienced crew no doubt had signals and silent methods of communications to be able to check in over high winds and great distances. But he still saw the sadness in Daenerys’ eyes as she approached one of the men leaning against a rail; the most alert looking of the group.

“Why attack us? What hope did you have against the Royal Navy?”

“The Queen will hear of this melady. See that she does even if the Ironborn do not wish to tell of it. This is the worst winter we have ever known, the storms blow and the cold winds do not relent, but our people starve, there is no grain left to grind, and few horses or hounds live now as we’ve tried to quiet the starving cries of our children.” The man pled with her, honest desperation in his voice even Jorah recognized.

“Why this? Why do this when you’ve only to make the journey to the capitol to seek an audience. The lines can be long, but all will be heard...”

“Men tried. But the lords paid some in our villages to spy and any man who set out on such a journey was struck down, his head returned and pyked within our square.” The man interrupted her, and his words brought a flush of anger to her cheeks; Jorah knew this man did not realize he spoke to his Queen. “Those who worked the mines or the docks who spoke to the Queen’s men who came for the cut stone or brought supplies for the holdfasts lost their tongues. But they cannot stop us from fishing and spies cannot report as long as we are at sea.”

“Know your plea has been heard, and the Queen’s justice will answer swiftly.” Daenerys spoke clearly and all color faded from the man’s face a moment before his eyes rolled back in his head.

“We can turn for the coast if you wish Your Grace, my men will fight for you as fiercely upon the snow as we do the sea. We’re ready for a fight and the Westerlands will not be, if you are concerned a raven can be dispatched and your men can march.” Yara offered her own sailors as an answer to her promise.

“No, no I will answer this. There is a small island in the bay. Can you set me upon it?” Her eyes drifted up and the dragons soared overhead, choosing that moment to reappear from where they had been scouting ahead. As Jorah took her arm, intending to argue she turned to look at him and slid her hand into his. “I need you to watch over me. I intend this to be a meaningful strike.”

He nodded, knowing immediately what she meant, but first there was work to be done up here. He kept her close as the prisoners were dealt with, letting Yara take the lead there as men were roused and their injuries treated before they were put back into their boats with a stern warning to go back to their villages and remain there. By his calculations enough time had passed since their orders would have reached Grey Worm; supplies should be on the way to the communities. And they would not be passing through Lannister hands.

However, as Yara prepared to make for the little island Daenerys had asked to be set upon they went below. His wife took a moment to check on their daughter before retreating to their cabin and lifting Neveah, still protesting being taken away from Rhainys, into her arms.

Jorah closed and locked the door, their guards outside it as Daenerys made herself comfortable. He watched as she closed her eyes and steadied her breathing, he knew it would take a few moments to relax herself enough to slip away; she was still learning to harness it.

He was not entirely sure where she intended to go today, but he had a few guesses and would give her the time to tell him that. Still it gave him a few moments to consider what they had been told, and the desperation they had seen.

Something about this did not ring true to the Lannister brothers, he could not say he knew Jamie Lannister, he had met him less than a handful of times; but he did know Tyrion. And whatever Tyrion had done he struggled to see him be this cruel, Cersei or their father, certainly; but it seemed cold for them. Skimming off the top, that wouldn’t surprise him in the least, nor would paying to see certain matters did not make it to King’s Landing; but this was something else.

After a time Daenerys sat up, and he knelt beside her, reaching out to stroke Neveah’s back; he saw the wild moment in her eyes as she grounded herself. Then there was purpose in her eyes, and she lay her hand on his, resting it on Neveah’s wings.

“Ready to go? We’re almost there, we will take the dingy in to the rocks…”He told her, but his wife frowned and shook her head.

“I will go, Jorah you cannot come, you have to stay here with Rhainys. We cannot risk both of us again. We know that, we just took that chance and we both know exactly why you left our daughter on Bear Island.” Daenerys protested, shifting her hand into his and while she wasn’t wrong Jorah still did not like the idea.

He knew if something was to happen to them, there were many who would not hesitate to kill their daughter to take the throne, but he did know she would be safe with his kin; and of all the kingdoms the North was stubborn and loyal when it’s people wanted to be. Following her into the Lands of Always Winter had been a calculated risk, and yet it was one he would take again for it was far better that he take the risks; Daenerys was young enough she could marry again if something were to happen to him. He could not think of raising their daughter alone.

“You are not going alone.” But when it came to her magic and the dragons he had to yield, yet she would be safe. That he would make sure of, and while he knew any of the Unsullied would gladly go with her, they were not his first choice.

She nodded quietly and Jorah left her, taking the steps quickly to the deck. The Unsullied were good fighters, but there was still much they had to learn about Westerosi politics and should she land that would matter, besides there was something to be said for full plate armor. Even in the air, there were certain threats she could face.

“Yara!” He called drawing the woman away from where she was watching the anchor lowered; she crossed quickly to him. “There is something the Queen needs to do; I need someone to go with her.”

“To the island?” Yara did not make the connection for a moment, but as though they had sensed her intention Drogon and Rhaegal soared ahead and lowered themselves to land upon the rocky shore; for a moment wonder crossed the sailor’s face. “Right.”

“You have full plates?” He verified, she didn’t usually wear them, but he knew this ship was her home; she would have them stored. And casting one more look to the dragons waiting for them, she nodded and headed towards the upper cabin.


	22. Chapter 22

They soared along the place where the land met the sea, high in the clouds as Daenerys tried to navigate, seeking the stronghold on the coast. It was time for the Lannisters to pay for what they had done to their people, and for all to know that this was a new age.

Yara held on to her, the sailor had cursed as she followed her up Drogon’s wing. But when they took flight, soaring into the sky Drogon and Rhaegal had screeched a dispute of their own before Rhaegal turned away to stay with the ship. She noticed and below saw Jorah craning his head up too.

She didn’t have time to give it too much thought as Yara indicated the fishing village down the coast from Casterly Rock, and then the dock where her men had delivered supplies. It was there that they swooped low, circling up towards the holdfast.

“Do you know where the grain stores are?” The Unsullied held this place once, but she had never been here; she did not know how it was laid out.

“Yes, along the East wall; the large buildings.” Yara shouted into her ear. “They’ve other stores farther down; near the corner.”

“Are they manned?” She needed to make a point, but unless it was the Lannister brothers, she had little desire in causing more harm than necessary. At least in lives, Casterly Rock would not be resupplied this winter.

“I don’t know, probably when supplies are delivered.” Yara called as the walls drew closer, within moments they would be upon that East wall.

And as they passed that stretch of wall, she was relieved to see the men on the walls running for cover, Daenerys spotted the squat stone buildings designed to hold grain and whispered her command. Drogon dove sharply before opening his great jaws and breathing flame. Behind her there was a whoop, Yara was enjoying the adventure of flying for the first time; and experiencing the dragon’s power.

Drogon’s hot breath melted stone and set the wooden roofs into an inferno, quickly caving in upon the structures. But sudden explosions caught her off guard as a section of wall crumbled; the second store house must have contained something more volatile than bags of grain. With the large buildings consumed in fire Daenerys urged her mount to circle the holding and the turned back the way they had come.

As they set down upon the island Rhaegal came to join his brother once more and Yara climbed carefully down; quickly moving away from the dragons once she was on solid ground. Daenerys paused a moment to watch the dragons’ interactions, and sensing that she was watching them, both turned for her attention. Rhaegal nuzzling her torso in effort to get her to stroke him, Drogon waiting his turn for once and Daenerys frowned; they had not behaved this way in quite some time.

As she left them her eyes slid up and she found Jorah watching silently from the longboat where the crew and Yara waited for her. She went to them and rode back to the ship quietly, listening to the heavy breathing of men rowing; she felt her husband’s gaze on her.

“What did you do?” He asked quietly once they were below, he knew what she had intended to do.

“The Lannisters have far less security now than they did before, their grain stores burned and perhaps a still; something blew up in the second storehouse.” She replied, she knew that he had mixed feelings on this method of war; of using the dragons in battle.

“Did you see the Lannister brothers? Within the walls or when you went to explore?” Jorah asked, skirting over the question she could sense in his eyes.

Her husband was respectful, at times a little too proper, always careful that they were alone when desire entered his eyes. They were alone now, and his eyes were running over her, she was quite certain he was imagining her without her clothes; but it was not a matter of desire right now; there was something more significant bothering him.

“I saw neither brother from above the walls, and only Jamie Lannister briefly when I journeyed.” She answered quickly and then sighed. “And I am not with child Jorah; Rhainys is only just weaned.”

“Rhainys has been weaned for some time, besides women have become pregnant with a babe still in arms. The dragons were gentle with you on Bear Island, and now too; I’ve only seen them that cautious when you were expecting.” He argued, shifting to sit across from her, that possessive and protective look in his eye.

“No, they were a little different, but I do believe they are aware of Rhainys; of how much we love her. And that she must be protected.” Daenerys murmured; it was the dragons’ interaction with each other that puzzled her. Drogon was acting much as he had when she was pregnant with Rhainys, but with Rhaegal. “We have never seen a female dragon; we have no point of reference.”

“I thought in the legends dragons could be both. Dragons do not carry their young, they lay eggs; sit on them or…” Jorah frowned, but he trailed off.

“But does an egg not need to be formed? Would the dragons not have to mate?” She thought of how Jorah had gotten as he realized that she was with child, but even then, she compared the two of them. “I always thought that Drogon was larger because he has always been free, Rhaegal in Mereen, I thought he was simply stunted a little; but what if that was not true? You are larger and stronger than me, but my body is made to form and protect a child.”

Jorah turned her hand in his, his brows raising slightly as he considered that; but he remained silent. The more she considered it the more it made sense, Rhaegal had softer and brighter colors, not as bright as Neveah, but not dark and vivid like Drogon. Did that matter?

But it posed another question, if Rhaegal was female and had laid eggs she would want to return to wherever that was to sit upon them until they hatched. And then there would be young to find, she would have to find them and convince her children to let her handle the hatchlings; that was a task she hesitated to consider. Neveah had been born with her own daughter, born from an ancient egg that others had tried and failed to hatch. It had been centuries since dragons had been born naturally, she was not even sure what the best approach would be. Her ancestors had taken the dragons’ eggs, put them in the cradles of their infants for generations. But was that what nature had intended?

“I have sent a raven to Grey Worm, to ensure they are aware of the developments today, and to see that the word is sent to the teams dispatched to the Westerlands with supplies; that they might be prepared.” Jorah updated her, switching back to their previous conversation; hopefully reassured.

“You don’t think Tyrion is involved in this.” She observed, and she agreed; this was ruthless for Tyrion who did have a soft side he liked to hide. The man might have been a traitor, but she had known him well enough to believe that. The man was capable of hate and cruelty, but not without reason, not to so many of his own people. “So where is he?”

“Given the situation we are dealing with, I would wonder if he isn’t attending to the family’s finances in some way. He has more of a mind for politics than Jamie, older brother like law and orders; the soldier. I still struggle to see the man who rode from King’s Landing to Winterfell to fight for the living to be so cold to his own people; yet it is in there. If we were talking about their father, Tywin, he was responsible for my pardon reaching Ser Barristan, I would have no questions. There is another factor here; one we aren’t seeing.” Jorah mused, playing the matter out in his mind.

They would be home in a matter of days, and while the capitol was a snake pit as Jorah liked to put it, it was the hub for politics. And she liked to think the longer she was on the throne the more honest the place was forced to become, even if only because of laws and edicts laid down. They would also have others around them, Missandei and Grey Worm, Sam and Ser Davos; people who had been upholding her rule while she supported their Northern Kingdom.

…

That night Daenerys snuggled into his side, her mouth still pressed firmly to his shoulder; she had travelled today in her magic and now needed sleep. His hand slid slowly over her belly, he found no swell there, though it occurred to him that the dragons’ senses were far more powerful than his. Perhaps she was right about Rhaegal.

Though it left him considering something else, he’d a young wife, a wife with a desire for family, both flesh and dragon. There was every reason to expect that they would have more children, and more hatchlings if she was right; but each birth would risk her life. Rhainys birth had been hard, he could have lost her and their child.

Jorah knew Rhainys could not remain an only child, but nor could Daenerys repeatedly be put through the pains of childbirth in winter. Especially not when her labor pains were tied to her magic; drawing a hatchling into the world along with their babe. Privately he decided that they would not have another child before the winds blew warm; and hopefully they would find out how dragons hatched their young naturally.

He drifted to sleep with an arm tossed over her, comfortable on the sea that drew them close to home. It took them two more days to get home, thankfully they were uneventful, though Jorah could not claim the sight of the Red Keep drawing closer gave him any great sense of home. But there were people he was looking forward to seeing again, friends he and his wife had both missed, and contacts who he needed to speak to.

But the return of the Queen was not something that could happen quietly, especially not in a city dependent upon her mercy. The people of King’s Landing had seen the dragons well before the ship docked and any hope of quietly entering the harbor had to be forgotten.

The Unsullied would have also received reports of their homecoming and as the crew hurried about putting to anchor, he stood with his wife on the deck and spotted the carriage waiting at the public harbor. Jorah sighed, running a hand over his daughter’s fine baby curls and pointed it out to his wife.

“Well, I suppose; we left with little warning.” Daenerys did not sound very enthused and glanced to Meera who watched from the rail.

The crowds were on the shore, and their only path enforced by the unit of Unsullied who held back the men and women cheering Daenerys. It reminded him of a time long ago across the sea, while his wife learned to rule; learned the morals and principles upon which she wanted to stand. These men and women may never have worn collars, but they were learning what freedom and stability was slowly; the people here were the ones willing to claw themselves up from poverty with the first opportunity given.

There were others, ones who wasted their coin in the winesinks and brothels of the city and squatted in construction sites or slept in the streets. But there would always be some who rejected help, and that was not a trait limited to the poor, Jorah needed to speak to their spymaster as soon as they made their way through this fuss.

Daenerys was kind, with Rhainys in his arms and Meera a pace behind them, she reached out to take a few of the children’s hands. He matched her pace but kept her moving, the men who had served with them in the North flowed off the ship behind them, a well-earned homecoming waiting for them as well. But none would move out until they did, and no one would relax until the Queen was safe within the keep.

But once the carriage rolled through the gates of the Red Keep, Jorah felt himself relax a little. Only to hear Meera agreeing with Rhainys’ excited pointing and baby battle. “Yes, that’s Fiona and Eva. They’re waiting for you.”

Too little to remember them, it did not stop Rhainys from being excited about the group waiting upon the steps for them. But they knew every face and Jorah gave his wife’s hand a squeeze, these were the faces they had missed. As the carriage door opened he waited, Meera now holding Rhainys climbed out first going straight to the girls and Gilly who stood with them. Daenerys went to Missandei and the two embraced eagerly.

Stepping down last Jorah smiled, but before he could direct his attention, thinking to speak to Grey Worm, Sam Tarly was in front of him; already talking a mile a minute. He patted the man’s shoulder a moment before arms wrapped around his waist, the small projectile nearly bumping Sam out of the way.

“Hello Eva.” He smiled, the young girl had grown another inch, Fiona perhaps even more; for younger sister followed. “What have you two been up to?”

The girls began to excitedly tell him of their adventures, jumping over each other as they tried to tell him everything; their cheeks flushing with the cold. In the North and at sea so long Jorah was not bothered but saw it in Missandei’s face as well; his wife and her friend eagerly chatting.

“Lets move inside.” He said loudly, encouraging the group to move, resting a hand on Eva’s shoulder; at the back of the group he caught Varys eye.

There were matters that needed to be attended, however they would hold for a time. In a large room, a fire roared and Rhainys had been passed to Missandei, the women and children fawning over the happy babe who chattered at the attention. Jorah withdrew to the side of the room, Varys and a few others had slipped away, but Ser Davos joined him.

“You have been missed. We’ve made good progress despite the snow; I’ll bring you up to speed whenever it is convenient for you Sire.” Ser Davos stood with him.

“Where are we at with rehoming those who signed up?” As long as winter held on the poor living in the streets were at the greatest risk.

“About seventy five percent of those who signed up have been rehoused, the issue is with those who did not sign up. The issue is being handled on an ongoing basis; security forces know the drill.” Davos said, and Jorah nodded; knowing the challenges the crew had been facing since the project began.

He spent some time in the room, Fiona eagerly climbing into his lap to tell him of all her adventures with her sister and caregivers, but it was her older sister he watched. She perched herself quietly upon the arm of the chair and nodded along with the younger girl’s tales, Jorah sensed something in the way she watched him. And internally he groaned, their warnings to her about spying upon those of the Red Keep fell upon deaf ears, and one of the most dangerous men who had previous employed Eva also had a soft spot for her; one that the girl did not reciprocate.

While she had come to trust most of them, her childhood had been hard graft of trying to survive; and though there were moments when her youth shone through, it was men like Varys who had stolen her childhood. He would listen to what she had to say, more to monitor who she was keeping track of, than to use the information.

After a time, he did manage to slip away, heading for his office and the mountain of paperwork that was sure to have accumulated. He was not wrong, and though space had been cleared on the desk, someone had clearly been updating his logs; scrolls were stacked up along with notes left for him and written in different hands.

Jorah settled in to read, Ser Davos’ were short and to the point, Grey Worm’s writing remained slightly jerky for he had learned to write only a few years ago and Sam’s rambled to fill every bit of parchment he had used. Each recorded different events and work, Jorah knew he would not catch up on all of this tonight; but he glanced up at a soft knock on the door.

“Welcome home.” Varys said, stepping in and closing the door firmly.

“What news do you have for me?” He asked, the spymaster was not one of the people he had missed here.

“Where would you like me to start?” The man murmured and crossed to take the chair across from his desk.

“The Westerlands, and the Lannisters.” That was going to be a pressing issue given it would not take long for the food shortages among the nobility to interfere with their new plan for supply distribution.

“Ah, yes, given the stores of Casterly Rock went up in flame…” Varys said, Jorah looked up from the ledger he had opened, glaring at the man until he adjusted his tone. “Whispers are already coming, villages fear raids from their lord’s and other strong holds are guarding their supplies carefully.”

“Why did we not hear of the risks the villagers faced in coming to the capitol?” Jorah countered, that particular point bothered him, especially as the man clearly had heard about Daenerys response to the reports.

“I have been having some issues with my birds from the Westerlands not returning to me.”

“Did you not consider the consequences of that? Given your birds are men and women with lives of their own.” Jorah called the man upon his excuse, he would not allow the man to take the lives risked in such ventures lightly.

“It is an issue I have been working to remedy.” Varys said, his voice becoming tight.

“Where is Tyrion Lannister?”

“The Stormlands, at Breakwater with his cousins from the house of Innis; he has found a bride there.” The man replied quickly, and Jorah frowned a moment longer before he rose and turned, crossing to the large map hung upon the wall, documenting the lands of each house and stronghold.

He noticed something but did not comment. “And Jamie?”

“Is also betrothed, a woman from Essos actually, the daughter of a trader who brings fine goods from Pentos.” Varys answered easily and Jorah knew the man did not have some of the details he did; a few things made sense now.

He understood the harsh stance in the Westerlands now, and the Lannisters might not realize just how far they had stepped into the Queen’s wrath. Tactics had seemed harsh for Westeros, for a man he knew, would not seem at all inappropriate to someone who had been raised in the East where the free cities still openly practiced slavery.

To his knowledge neither man had been keen to marry, the stories of the Lannister twins were infamous, and Tyrion had said as much, so these marriages would certainly have other motivations. Perhaps in seeking a wife across the sea Jamie Lannister had thought to quietly solve the problem of continuing his house without being forced to admit the stain upon his family; few eligible women would consider a man who had lain with his own sister.

“Perhaps the Lannisters would not have reason to rebel if the Queen had not destroyed their stores.” Varys commented and Jorah turned back.

“Clearly your birds are struggling to fly, or perhaps you are ignoring the songs. Men accosted our ship on the sea, desperate and half mad from sea water. They did not seek to plunder, only to send a plea to the Queen, that she would hear how her people are starved and those who try to come to her are murdered upon the road.” He said, watching the man’s face change, and was unsure whether that response was genuine or carefully schooled; given they had been at sea there was a chance his spies had not heard. “The Queen has heard their plea.”

“But to waste grain in winter…” Varys began.

“The Queen has made arrangements to ensure that all of Westeros will have grain throughout the winter and from what I have heard, support for her only grows stronger in the East as Dragon’s Bay prospers from our trade.” And Varys would be aware of the changes to the delivery plans for the Westerlands supplies.

“Yes, Sire.” The title dripped from his mouth and Jorah ignored it, clearly, he would have to watch Varys closely now that they were back.

…

Returning home did not allow them rest, instead news of their arrival had a cue of supplicants gathering at dawn, and Jorah had turned immediately to finding his place in all the work that had been going on in the city. She felt him leave their bed at dawn, pressing a kiss to her cheek before he went to dress, no doubt stopping to check on Rhainys just down the hall as well; Daenerys knew she would not see him again for many hours.

Most of her day was to be spent in the throne room, listening to the supplicants who wanted to make their voices heard to her rather than her representatives. Missandei, who had kept up the practice while she had been away, stood faithfully at her side through the long flow of requests.

It was at the evening meal that her husband joined her again, the gathering kept to their inner circle, Missandei, Grey Worm, Sam and his wife along with Ser Davos. And, because she insisted upon it, Meera and the children. The mood was kept light by their antics, while Rhainys was too small to attend Sam and Gilly’s son was perched upon a seat so that he could feed himself or attempt to; the girls were not helping the matter.

She watched quietly from the head of the table, with Jorah at her right hand, though he was still talking business with Ser Davos, both men glanced down the table as Sam attempted to correct the little boy smearing food on the polished wood rather than putting it into his mouth. Sam Tarly might be warden of the Reach, though the family resided primarily in the Red Keep, the Reach kept at peace as her own men lived within the region, rotating into the city for tours of duty. But Sam looked up to Jorah as a father figure and having her husband’s attention on his son made the young mans’ face flush as young Sam grinned happily and did place a bite of bread into his mouth.

That the children were present meant the meal wrapped up early and Daenerys leaned over to ask Jorah to accompany her out to the wall; she wanted to make sure that the dragons were settling in again. Her husband nodded quietly, and their guards fell in as Missandei promised to meet her later that evening.

“I found this in my mail this morning, it comes from the citadel.” Jorah passed her a scroll and Daenerys took it, frowning a moment as she saw there was not proper seal upon it; only a blob of wax.

Pulling it open she paused, the writing within was little more than scratches, except as she looked carefully, she did see the words. Her eyes skimmed to the bottom and she smiled as she saw the marks made at the bottom; she would read Ina’s letter when she had a little more time.

“I will go to see Asiye in the morning and share it with her.” Daenerys murmured, thinking of the elderly woman who had so skillfully delivered her child and helped to patch up her husband; the woman would be proud of her granddaughter.

They climbed the stairs to the walkway atop the wall and Drogon appeared first, circling high overhead until Rhaegal appeared, launching from the lair, and soaring through the sky to land upon the wall. The stone groaned as the dragon’s great weight descended upon it, green first and then dark; Daenerys could tell that the dragons were pleased to be home.

That Drogon allowed Rhaegal to receive attention first yet again, only solidified her beliefs that perhaps she had misnamed the green dragon. Yet after a few moments she did shift so she could attend to the great dragon who allowed her upon his back. Their guards remained by the stairs, Jorah stood close to her and when Rhaegal nudged him, her husband reached out.


	23. Chapter 23

For three days Rhaegal did not appear at the wall when Daenerys took her evening walk, nor when the men slaughtered cattle upon the shore; and his wife was concerned. She was also upset with him as he had thwarted her advances since they arrived home, he had not denied her; he’d no desire to dredge up that old argument.

But until they sorted out what was going on with the green dragon, he took no chances. Especially not as she only took his blood in the mornings now, travelling each night in her dreams. Back at home Neveah was given freedom in the corridor that housed their chambers and their daughter’s nursery; and the purple dragon had discovered that the guards would open doors for her rather than risk being burned. So most mornings he woke to find Neveah had joined them in the bed; taking more space with every moon that passed.

This morning he and Ser Davos, along with his guards ventured out into the bay, rowing towards the lairs the dragons had chosen; several goats bound in the bottom of the small boat. He had instructed Missandei to take his wife for a walk upon the wall this morning, hoping that Rhaegal could be tempted into making an appearance for her.

The dragons were creatures of habit, each had chosen a lair not long after they had taken the capitol and returned to them when they came home from the North. They approached Rhaegal’s lair, the rocky shore littered with charred bones and some stones melted smooth where they dragon had consumed it’s meals. Jorah climbed from the boat onto one of those smooth rocks as Torvo, one of the Dothraki guards who served in his guard rotation, hauled a goat from the bottom of the boat.

The creature bleated desperately, and the others screeched as Jorah scanned the opening of the cave, looking for any sign of the dragon; Drogon circled hopefully overhead. But Rhaegal did not emerge, and after a few moments Jorah began to climb the rocks, he was cautious, even if the dragon knew him it was risky to encroach upon its home.

Staring into the dark cave he saw only darkness and did not sense the heat he always felt in the dragon’s presence; either the dragon was elsewhere or deep within the lair. He did not dare to go too deep into the cave and turned back, giving the signal for the goat to be slaughtered; perhaps the scent would bring Rhaegal out.

But there was no response from the green dragon, the scent of blood brought Drogon down, screeching to drive back the Dothraki warrior who had killed the goat; scooping up the carcass and flying away to devour it.

“Do you think he is in there?” Ser Davos asked as he climbed back into the boat.

“There have been no sightings reported beyond the city, so the most likely scenario is that Rhaegal is still here; and this is home for him.” Though he was no longer sure the male pronoun applied.

“Still, when have you ever known a dragon to turn down food?” The man commented, eyes sliding back to the dark mouth of the cave. Jorah looked to the wall, too far away to see his wife standing there, but he knew she would be there; and that she had wanted to see the dragon she counted as her child. They would try again tomorrow.

As the boat fought the current back towards the Red Keep, Jorah shifted the conversation to the construction projects stalled by the revolt in the Westerlands. The contract for quarried stone had been offered to Gendry Baratheon and the man was working to get his quarries producing at the rate required.

“The work is good for their men, Gendry has been trying to hard to create work for his men. But we’ve got work crews waiting for work, some are working with the supply trains; however, folks have gotten used to the routine. They’re getting restless.” Ser Davos updated him, usually this time would have been spent in his office; warm and comfortable while he took the man’s update.

“He’s taken the work on short notice; we’ll have to have some patience as he gets up to speed. Is he having any issues with his banners?” Varys had nothing to report on that front, but he knew the knight was a close friend to the young man who never known his father.

Jorah knew it was the man beside him who was guiding the young warden of the Stormlands, Ser Davos and Arya Stark, but while she was young the Stark girl knew more of the world and the functioning of great houses than many old men; she’d lived more than some ever did in very few years. But given Tyrion was within the borders he did have a few concerns; he was not sure of the man’s agenda.

“There are those loyal to him, and those who are staying quiet for now; they haven’t forgotten the day you and the Dothraki appeared on the road.” The man’s answer was careful, and Jorah glanced at him; now those who were quiet had Tyrion in the mix to guide their agenda.

Pulling along side Jorah reached instinctively for the ropes, the water was choppy today and as the small craft was tied off, he climbed to the dock. He stayed in step with Ser Davos as the guards fell in around him, the docks buzzed with activity that parted as they passed.

The city was working, even with the challenges their main construction projects, there was still the edge of lower class here, but the destitution and poverty that these poor parts of the city had long been known for was not as evident. It had taken work, and there were those who did not want the change, but the city that had been Daenerys focus for so long was beginning to resemble the vision she held; they just had to expand that beyond the cities they held direct control over.

It was a hard thing, to get an accurate picture of the city and their work, when he could no longer walk the city streets alone or unnoticed. For a little while, after they took the city he could still move quite freely, but he had spent enough time with the crews, reviewing work and issues that he was recognizable; men and women noticed and reacted to his presence.

…

She was concerned that Rhaegal did not appear even with the temptation of goat delivered, but Drogon was around and as curious as ever. Jorah went out each morning for several days with no reaction and she knew he sensed her fears; but things between them had been tense since they returned from the North.

Their return shadowed by the work that had piled up, and the suspicion she had shared with him; that perhaps she had made an error in counting Rhaegal her son. But she did not agree with Jorah’s stance on it, and she was not appreciating his restraint; she also knew breaking his stance on it would be hard. Few were as stubborn as her husband.

As she crossed the yard her eyes drifted to the Unsullied training and the slight figure among them; Meera trained with both the Unsullied and Dothraki. But each afternoon, two little girls escaped their Septas and her daughter was liberated from her maid as the girls curled up in one of the huge wing backed chairs in the balcony.

The disappearances had concerned her, and a variety of staff at first, no one had thought to check the throne room for the children; and none had heard them up there. But it had been Samwell Tarly who had discovered their regular haunt, and Daenerys liked watching that close knit group. Her daughter would one day be queen and genuine friends would be hard to make; at least she would grow up with three.

And one would stand as her fierce advisor and guard, Meera trained with the short sword today, practicing the movements in line with a unit of Unsullied; the girl moved as smoothly as the trained warriors. Near the gate where the training yard was separated from the garden, she spotted a small face and turned that way.

The girl should have been inside with the septa, but Eva often made escapes and had little remorse for leaving her septa’s or maids worrying and apologizing for losing track of her. Intent on what she had been watching Eva didn’t see her until she was partway across the yard, and she saw the girl consider darting through the gate and into the garden. But the girl didn’t run.

“Where are you meant to be this morning?” She asked, not bothering to keep the edge from her voice; Eva could be a handful.

“Do you know where Jorah is? I checked his office already.” The girl asked, ignoring her question and not looking at all remorseful.

“Don’t you have lessons with your septa?” Daenerys tried again, when it came to Eva, Jorah was part of the problem.

Eva often escaped to his office, learning as much from peering over his shoulder as she did from the women who did their very best to teach her. But the child was no longer a terrified leaf of a thing and was hard to match with the child they had first met in the Riverlands. She was smart and tricky, she knew the women who attended her hated to bother their King, and if she made it through his door, she was likely to be free for the day. Jorah wouldn’t send her back to her lessons and her septas would fuss just down the corridor from his office before giving up what ever goals they’d had for the day. The problem had been far worse since they returned to the city.

“I have something to tell him.” She said seriously.

“How about you tell me?” Daenerys sighed, if this was Rhainys’ closest friend they were going to be in trouble in a few years. Eva glanced around and made a face; she felt her shoulders sag; Eva had been spying again. “Will Jorah want to hear what you have to say?”

“I was observing, and he should.” This child refused to look guilty and Daenerys knew exactly who she had been spying on. It did not matter how many times they warned her, or how stern they got; it was almost second nature to the girl.

Unwilling to debate it any further she took the girl’s hand and headed inside, she did not want this issue made public more than it had to be; it was going to be nasty enough whenever Varys realized just how observant and determined Eva was. Eva wanted to talk to Jorah, they would wait for him in his office.

“Varys will have a visitor soon, but he cannot be seen in the city. They plan to meet near the dragon’s final resting place; he just learned that it will be today.” Eva reported when Jorah finally joined them, blue eyes firmly locked upon the girl.

Daenerys had taken his chair behind the desk, he stood, leaning upon the back; she could sense the irritation those words brought. For a long moment he was silent, Eva sat innocently, kicking her feet as she waited for his response. They had warned her and threatened her to try to get her to stop spying on Varys, especially Varys; but the child ignored them.

“Have you considered that he might leave notes like this out to see if anyone is watching him?” Her husband asked after a long silence.

“He leaves notes out, and sometimes has fake meetings too; he doesn’t really do much other than burn the real notes in his chambers.” Eva said, reporting the information as though she thought it was obvious; Daenerys saw the slight tick in her husband’s jaw. “Are you going to go see who he is meeting?”

“No, Eva. I will not be going to see who Varys is meeting, and neither will you. Varys can be a dangerous man; I will not risk your life if this is meant to be a trap. And you will not be going down there either.” Jorah’s voice was measured, and Daenerys knew it masked his irritation.

He rose and crossed to the door, speaking quietly in Dothraki, she did not comment on the fact he sent one of his own guards away. Eva sulked as she was escorted back to her septa and lessons for the day, guard in tow, but Jorah glanced carefully up and down the hall; then shut the door firmly.

“You are going to follow up on that?” Daenerys said quietly, she knew he would not want to; but her husband would never trust Varys. She knew she couldn’t either, at least not completely, but she did not believe him quite as cold as Jorah did; he had left Westeros eventually. He allowed Eva to spend time with him here to encourage her to find other ways to keep that sharp mind busy. “And what does she mean, where the dragon’s final resting place?”

“When Robert Baratheon took the throne, he moved the dragon skulls below the keep, they’ve been there ever since; where the maze of tunnels beneath King’s Landing begins. I think its time that access point was properly secured, and we have men who need to be working.” Jorah said, but his tone was tight, and he rubbed his brow. “She does not understand that Varys would kill her without remorse.”

“I think he would feel something, he does genuinely care about those girls; and a part of me thinks he must know already.” She replied, though she knew that suspicion was not something that could be proved. “Besides, if we keep her close it makes it far more difficult for him to do anything.”

Jorah only nodded, checking his ledger before drafting the work order to be delivered to Ser Davos, summoning a work crew to the tunnels of the Red Keep. He then called out, his remaining guard stuck his head around the door only to be dispatched to fetch a unit of Unsullied to act as an escort, she recognized the unit; they knew them well as the men rotated through her personal guard.

“I will let you know if they see anything.” Jorah said as the door shut once again.

“Will you try to feed Rhaegal again tonight?” She knew he needed to work, and she should be listening to supplications by now; slowly they were catching up on the work that had piled up while they were in the North. Her husband nodded, but she saw his slight smile and ducked to kiss him before heading down to the throne room.

…

As they crossed towards the dock Black Slug briefed him on the work that had been done in the tunnels today. Varys had been spooked from his meeting, as had his guest, but the guards positioned on the outside of the walls had seen a man approaching from outside. Soldiers who had travelled with the army to the Stormlands when Gendry’s bannermen had tried to revolt.

It was one of those same Lords who had come to meet Varys and slipped away when he saw the construction crew. The crew would stay there, installing heavy metal grating across the access points that had been used to enter this keep for too long. Black Slug and his men were reliable and observant, but to those who did not know the Unsullied well they blended it; the Unsullied stood guard and patrolled throughout the city.

Alongside the docks the small craft rocked with the flow of the water, several goats had already been loaded behind the bench. Jorah left Black Slug on the dock and joined the crew who already sat at the ready, dropping down beside Ser Davos.

“Ready Sire?” One of the men asked, sitting by an oar, and at his nod the men began to take the small craft out towards the dragon’s lair.

Drogon circled overhead, ever hopeful that Rhaegal would remain hidden within the cave and he would be able to swoop down and swipe the goats their mother intended for his suddenly reclusive sibling. As he glanced back to the wall, he saw the flashes of purple in the winter sky; Neveah growing ever bolder in flight.

Their daughter’s dragon was still very much a pet, though a day would come when she would no longer be able to sleep as close to Rhainys; Jorah did not expect that transition to go well. Rhainys’ dragon would grow to be huge some day, and given the way Drogon behaved, her personality would only become stronger.

As the boat rocked against the blackened point Jorah stepped into the shallow water and with the help of an unsullied guard, dragged a goat up towards the opening in the rocks. When its bleats brought Drogon close, but no movement from within the cave, Jorah slaughtered it; if anything would draw Rhaegal out it would be fresh meat.

He heard the guards muttering from the boat, their eyes scanning the cave as well, as the men tossed a goat into the sea, its angry bleats cut short as once the currents carried it a little way from the boat Drogon swooped down and neatly plucked it from the waves. That would keep the black dragon off their backs for all of two minutes, but Rhaegal wasn’t coming out of hiding; and Jorah picked his way up the rocks.

As he stepped into the mouth of the cave Jorah sensed that something was different; he could feel the heat of Rhaegal’s breath. But still could not see the great dragon, a man brought him a torch and Jorah waved it through the darkness, picking his way forward carefully. Rhaegal knew him, had known him since hatching, and yet he did not feel sure of encroaching upon the dragon’s lair.

The heat eased a little and he heard a distant rumble, as though the dragon had brushed the side of the cave and caused some rock to fall. If Rhaegal was moving, he was alright, and Jorah started back towards daylight; until something caught him across the side and slammed him into the rocks.

Pain exploded in his side and he heard a shout but suddenly felt heat run over his back, instinctively pressing himself deeper into the rocks. And then stabbing pain, Jorah groaned; he could feel the claw digging into his gut as numbing pain spread through him.


	24. Chapter 24

She saw the men starting forward and realized something was wrong, but when flame burst from the mouth of the cave; engulfing one of the Unsullied, her chest tightened impossibly. Turning quickly from where she had been watching, Daenerys started for the stairs; ordering one of her guards to go ahead and prepare a boat; they needed reinforcements on those rocks.

The men obeyed, but she could tell that they were hesitant, her heart was in her throat; this was all her fault. She knew it was dangerous to try to feed Rhaegal, she should have done it herself; his flames would not hurt her.

There would be little left of the Unsullied solider who had been close to the cave, but Jorah; her husband had been in the cave. Daenerys fought tears as the men gestured for her to climb into the boat, her eyes on the sky as Drogon dipped, seeking a place to land.

With the activity on the dock he didn’t find a good one and settled for gripping the edge of the dock with his claws and extending one wing, sending those who did not move quickly flying; Daenerys strode forward and climbed carefully.

With a few flaps of his wings the great dragon crossed to the outcrop and let her scramble from his back. The men stood uneasily near their damaged boat, part of it charred from the blast of flame. She saw the fear and shame in their faces, while they did not dare enter the cave to find out what had happened to Jorah; she knew what he meant to them.

None stopped her as she picked her way towards the mouth of the cave, stopping short as rock fell in front of her; Drogon perching higher on the rock face. She saw the ash spread across the mouth of the cave, leathers and weapons, nothing of that loyal soldier had survived to be buried; but she would gather his ashes herself if necessary. But stepping into the darkness she feared what she would find of her husband.

She heard the rumble of Rhaegal’s growl, and continued forward, her eyes strained in the darkness. Metal glinted and she swallowed hard, Jorah would never part with his sword easily; the belt and sheath were severely burned. But she saw no body, or ash.

None of her fears eased, yet when she took a few more steps, hot air rushed at her and from the shadows Rhaegal’s face appeared. The dragon snarled; wings partially lifted to block her from moving forward; jaws opened slightly she recognized the threat. Daenerys held her ground, but when the dragon’s great head dipped, she did not reach out to stroke it or make any connection; simply watching for the moment she would be able to get past. Rhaegal hissed at her when she tried to nudge her way past the folded wing, but as the dragon shifted, she heard a faint groan.

“Jorah?” She called, longing for her husband to answer. “Jorah, can you hear me?”

She heard another groan, but the sound moved the dragon, Rhaegal backed up and turned tightly in the larger cave. As the great green dragon tucked itself down, as though curling into a ball; Daenerys climbed roughened scales.

Rhaegal growled, as she climbed over and began to slide down, into the part of the cave the dragon was trying to protect. The dragon shifted a little but did not stop her and did not seem to care when the flame of her torch brushed against it.

But her throat closed as she finally saw her husband, Jorah’s body lay crumpled on the rocks, close to the dragon’s side. The back of his coat was all but gone, charred, or melted into his back and his limbs were at odd angles; he had not crawled back here.

“Jorah, please talk to me.” She whispered, laying her palm on his cheek, moving the torch to give her a better look.

His groan might have been more, she could not make out the word, yet she was reassured that he stirred; trying to figure out where she was. He was alive, but badly injured and Daenerys was not sure how she would be able to get him out of here, if Rhaegal would let her.

When she tried to pull him up Rhaegal snarled and knocked her backwards as Jorah moaned in pain. Laying the torch on the rocks she saw the blood staining her hands and tried a different approach, trying to find where he was bleeding. But as her hands searched beneath him, she felt the distinctive shapes of eggs; Rhaegal had laid him upon her clutch. She wanted him here, had moved him back to her clutch and Daenerys knew better than to think there was an innocent reason for it.

“I need you to fight Jorah; I can’t move you on my own.” She murmured, holding him close; if she could get him up, he might lean on her.

She could hear the voices of the guards, calling to her from the mouth of the cave, she knew they feared for her; already assuming something terrible had happened to Jorah. The torch flickered on the rocks, burning the hem of her coat as Jorah wrapped his arms around her side, using his own strength to sit up; but that effort left him breathing hard.

She hated seeing him hurting, Daenerys tried to steady him, but wrapped herself around him as Rhaegal protested Jorah moving off the clutch. Two of the eggs were blood stained, three were a pale green and one gold. Daenerys kept herself between Jorah and Rhaegal as the dragon snarled and hissed smoke.

Impulsively she reached for the gold egg and pressed it to Jorah’s belly, smearing his blood across it; then doing the same with the last green one. Then wrapping an arm around her husband as he used her body to haul himself up, she lay her other hand upon Rhaegal’s snout, pushing the great dragon back; hoping she would let them pass.

The dragon did and slowly they stumbled forward, as they made it past Rhaegal’s tail, she saw the men in the mouth of the cave; their torches shining in. The sight of them enough to make the Unsullied take the risk of coming into the cave. No sooner than the two men took his weight, Jorah’s eyes rolled, and he went limp in their arms.

Daenerys glanced back as the men returned to the boats, smoke billowed from the mouth of the cave. She did not go back to see if the dragon had hatched her eggs, instead she picked her way down the rocks to find a spot in the boat; her husband lay in the bottom of the boat as men began to row home.

Word must have spread already, as they were met with a flurry of activity on the dock, men were ready to move Jorah and when they reached their chambers water boiled at the fire and the elderly midwife who had delivered their child was ripping cloth into strips; Sam tinkered with a case of tools and herbs.

The men lay the stretcher upon their bed and her husband did not react, he lay still and pale until Asiye began to remove the remains of his coat. Sam gave her a quick glance before pressing a cloth of herbs over his mouth and nose; Jorah went limp again.

Daenerys watched silently as the elderly woman and Sam worked on him, she could not give in to the fear that curled within her. She knew she would likely lose him one day, he reminded her of it too often, under the guise of making preparations for the future, but that day was meant to be very far off. And yet when he was hurt like this she was reminded of all the scars he had, all the things that had hurt him before; the battles that could have killed him.

And then she thought of their daughter, Daenerys knew what it was to grow up without a father, to wonder of who that man was and what life with him would have been. Rhainys wouldn’t remember Jorah if they lost him now, their baby wouldn’t even remember him; and she was meant to have memories with him. Meant to learn from him, and to know how much he loved her.

Missandei’s hand crept into hers, and Daenerys realized the hall beyond their chamber might be silent but it was far from empty; the door left open by the guards. When she looked at her friend she was given an answer. “The Unsullied fear for him, many who are not on shift have gathered for news. He has been with you for so long, I do not think he knows what he has become to so many of them. He is more than their general or king.”

There was truth to that, most of the Unsullied had been such young men when they were freed, young men with no memory of family or a father figure. Jorah had been at her side, her champion and her friend, but to those young men trying to find footing without collars about their necks he’d been more. He learned their names, respected their skills and treated them as men, possibly one of the first men who ever had.

She saw it in Grey Worm’s face when the Commander came in to check, worried eyes glancing towards Missandei, but there was no news to give. Gilly had arrived and was assisting Sam and Asiye as they bound his chest with strips of linen and ointment; the man having carefully stitched the deep wound to his gut. Jorah let out a groan as he was rolled onto his side and Sam looked up, eyes searching wildly.

“May I help?” Grey Worm asked, stepping closer.

“Hold him up while we clean his back.” Sam spoke with more authority than usual, and Grey Worm complied quickly.

When they began to pull and cut the charred leather from Jorah’s back, Daenerys finally had to turn away; her stomach knotted. Tears clouded her vision and her friend wrapped an arm around her, leading her away. Missandei took her to Rhainys’ nursery and bundled her into the rocking chair before tucking Rhainys into her arms.

Daenerys stroked the soft baby curls, her daughter sleepy from a nap snuggled into her; unaware of the horror happening farther down the corridor. She stayed in the nursery until Missandei finally returned and told her that they were settling him to rest.

“I will sit with him tonight, will you see that the girls have their evening meal? Keep things as normal as possible for them.” She instructed, knowing nothing felt normal right now; but the children did not need to be scared.

“I will see that a plate is brought up to you.” Missandei said, gently taking Rhainys from her.

And she returned to their chamber, walking through a corridor lined with Unsullied, Daenerys said nothing; in the chamber Asiye stood at the fire. But the room had been put back together, Jorah was propped up on pillows and tucked beneath warm furs; only his bare shoulders wrapped with white bandage hinted at his ordeal. That and the fact he did not stir.

“He survived us cleaning and binding the wounds, if he makes it the night then he will live; we will keep him from infection. But he will sleep a long time, and sleep is good for he must rest to heal.” The elderly woman told her, a gentle hand guiding her to sit beside him.

“I will see that a chamber is prepared for you.” Missandei murmured.

“No.” She said, her eyes still on her husband. “I will stay with him.”

“Your Grace, he will not wake tonight; he will not miss you.” The old midwife added.

“I don’t care.” He would know that she was there, somewhere within him he would feel her presence and know she waited upon him. And if his injuries were as grave as they said, that might matter, for he would fight his way back to her; he always had.

She knew they disagreed, but once the midwife left Missandei helped her change for the night and as she sat for the woman to tend her braids, she asked her to take them out. It was a long process, and perhaps in a small way it did stall the moment she had to crawl into bed beside Jorah. Her friend gently ran her fingers through the long loose waves until they were silky smooth and then tied it all back with a delicate strip of leather.

“Would you like me to stay for a time?” Missandei asked quietly, blowing out the lantern that had illuminated her dressing stand.

“No.” Jorah lay as still as he had been while they tended his wounds, it had been a long time since they had shared a bed without curling together; without talking things over before drifting to sleep.

In fact, it would go back to the early days of their marriage, and the campaign to King’s Landing. Jorah had believed their marriage would be political only, and uneasy with their shifting boundaries. Their marriage was more political than she had originally thought it would be, but not for the alliance it had made. Her husband was her Hand, chief advisor and an arrow aimed at those who disagreed with her vision; his hands were upon every law and change she made.

But Asiye was right, he did not stir as she crawled beneath the furs, or when she lay her palm against his chest; reassured to feel the beat of his heart there. Daenerys lay close to him, ensuring he would feel that she was there, but she did not lay against him; she’d no desire to wake him with pain.

That night she did not sleep peacefully, and she did not need to touch one of her dragons to travel in her dreams. Daenerys walked through the mists of time, and as she passed the ancient streets she had seen before she felt a presence with her; turning one side street to see that Auna was beside her.

Silently she reached out to the woman, knowing it was best to remain silent as the world moved around them; unaware of their magic. But the woman took her hand and squeezed in both of her small, gnarled ones; of course she has seen what had happened today. And then Auna drew her further, until the beautiful streets they walked upon became a rough foot trail beside the river and the city a village of wood.

It was a small village and thrummed with activity but as they passed through it Daenerys saw the signs of a dragon beyond it. The blackened bones and charred landscape on the side of a hill less than a league from the village, these must be the farmers who had first gentled the dragons of Valyria.

When a great screech cut the quiet her eyes went to the sky, the dragon dwarfed Drogon, a vibrant nearly golden color with a belly of silver; the rider was only a child. Daenerys watched as the dragon landed and the small boy climbed from its back, the dragon must be a hundred years old or more; perhaps his father and grandfather had ridden this same dragon.

But the boy torn from the dragon, calling for his mother; Daenerys could only pick out some of the worlds. “She has shown me! Please mama!”

A couple stood at the edge of the village and Daenerys knew the look that passed between them, the woman was afraid; but the little one gleefully raced up the rocks towards the dragon’s lair. Daenerys felt her chest tighten, she feared for this ancient child though she knew nothing of him. Was he immune to the dragon’s fire or had that come later? Was it his mother who was also a dragon rider?

“She is like Jorah, joined with her mate from afar, her blood is not the dragon’s. But from her, each child of dragon’s magic will be born, your blood once came from her.” Auna spoke softly in their language, holding her back when Daenerys made to follow the woman up the rocks. “From your magic each child will be born of dragons, it is your husband’s blood that will cool their fire, give them humanity; and if they are wise, they will seek a mate of the same. But each dragon touched by the blood of man will recognize its magic in them.”

While she could not follow the woman, who walked slowly up the hill, eyes following the great golden dragon who watched with interest, she did stay until woman and child emerged once more. And no sooner than they were out of the cave’s entrance then the dragon launched itself into the lair.

Auna drew her away and Daenerys woke with a start, back in her own bed; her husband laying still beside her. The seer was back upon the roots of her weir wood deep in the North, but Daenerys considered her words; trying to make sense of them.


	25. Chapter 25

The moon was waning and Jorah had not woken, his injuries were healing and Asiye tended him daily with Gilly’s help, turning him to his side and bathing him as needed; changing he dressings often. She had seen for herself that the open wounds were scabbing over, and the swelling slowly went down, but he did not wake.

Daenerys was fighting her own fears as each day passed, relying heavily upon those close to her as she tried to find extra moments to steal with him. Sitting beside him or putting the children on the bed around him; hoping something would reach him. She knew he was fighting his own battle; he’d not given up when his body flushed with heat or twitched in pain; he did not let go of life. Sam had been a constant presence in their chamber when he was fighting that infection and though the young man was attentive and tended Jorah well, she struggled not to absorb the fears he murmured.

Ser Davos and Grey Worm stayed close, each trying to help her in their own way as they divided Jorah’s work among them, Torvo, the Dothraki guard who had served Jorah personally the longest, also stepped up to keep his various projects moving forward; always asking for updates. Varys seemed eager to help as well, and that made Daenerys cautious, she did not ask him to take on any of her husband’s work. She was certain his spies kept him updated as he rarely asked after Jorah, but seemed to lurk around her, offering aide and yet providing little useful information.

The counsel was meeting later today and while she was not looking forward to the meeting without Jorah, she knew it was important; it fell to her to keep even those who disagreed with her in line. Missandei finished with her hair and slipped away, no doubt waiting in the hall with her guards as Daenerys took a moment to kiss her husband’s cheek before attending to her day.

If she did not know he was hurt he might be sleeping, he looked at ease and younger somehow, the worry lines of his forehead smooth. He would wake, and he would live to see their daughter grow up; and the lines in his face would return, and his hair would grey; Rhainys was certain to give them both cause for that.

Asiye would be in to sit with him soon and so Daenerys left him to rest, if he woke, she knew someone would be sent for her. Missandei stayed with her as she met with Ser Davos who worked from Jorah’s desk. He updated her on the various construction projects and supply runs that were ongoing, and asked after Jorah.

“No change.” She reported, just as she had each day before. Concerns grew the longer Jorah was absent from affairs of state and while some, including Davos, could be relied upon; there were others who would use this time to test her again.

“He’ll pull through, he’s a Northerner; they’re stubborn and there are none stronger.” The knight gave her a reassuring smile.

He would, she remained certain of that, and as much as this would be a test of those who still doubted her; it also revealed those loyal to her; who had come to believe in her vision for this realm. She knew her plans did not sit well with many of the houses throughout Westeros, and at the counsel meeting Varys was certain to have news on their latest grievances.

The morning dragged, but as the meeting started Daenerys fought the knot in her gut, listening as Sam listed off the matters they were meant to cover today. Many were routine, the constant requests for supplies, and complaints about her Wardens; men and women working to see that her laws were upheld and supplies distributed to all.

Yara had already sailed up the coast again, her ships travelling around Westeros and across the Narrow Sea in effort to keep this continent fed. The discussion jumped around the table, she listened quietly as whether or not to respond to any of the complaints.

“The problem with silence on these matters is that it conveys weakness in a time when we cannot afford to appear weak; news of the King’s condition has certainly spread.” Varys argued, as Ser Davos muttered that they should simply ignore it.

“Are you not the one who complained of the Queen’s response to the Lannisters?” Davos asked.

“I am not suggesting we respond by burning their homes. But a letter from the Queen, some acknowledgement, might go a long way in soothing these lords.” The spymaster said.

“I have acknowledged them, and I have heard their complaints without consequence many times over; but their complaints prove that they have not accepted the new way of Westeros. They do not want to change; more words will not accomplish anything.” She ended the matter; she would not write to these men. “How many of them are from the Stormlands or the Westerlands?”

“All but three, and those come from the Riverlands, small holdings near the border.” Varys said, flipping through his scrolls to verify the seals.

“We should send the names of those within the Riverlands and the Stormlands to your Wardens there Your Grace; we’ve names of those who may become problems for them.” Ser Davos said.

With no members of the previous counsel, and the loyalty of those who knew the political landscape in question, it was hard to know the bonds and alliances between the various houses in each kingdom. Sam knew some of it and had claimed a book from Jorah’s office in effort to learn more; it was a task her husband had dedicated many hours to. Some of those alliances spanned generations, others were tenuous and had been strained or broken many times over the years; yet if factions were to come together and rebel, knowing those old ties would be important.

For the hours they spent discussing the matters it felt like they made little progress; and yet it left Daenerys drained. She went to check on Rhainys and frowned as she rounded a corner to catch Eva tucked up on the ledge of a large window, peeking around the edge. Her entire body sagged as she sighed, the child glanced to her and then back down the corridor.

She motioned her guards to go ahead and as she rounded the corner took the girl’s shoulder and pulled her off the ledge, into her side. Eva glared at her but did not protest, producing a small book from her skirts and holding onto her hand as they moved down the corridor. She did not question the girl, not until they were alone, and as a maid came out of a chamber, she realized who Eva had been watching; she recognized the maid but did not know her name.

Entering her own chamber, leaving the guards stationed outside, Daenerys intended to speak to Eva; but Asiye and another maid had Jorah propped in the bed. The young woman knelt on the bed, arms around her husband’s shoulders, holding his head as the old woman carefully poured broth down his throat.

Daenerys had seen them do it before, it was a thing that had to be done very carefully or he would choke, his body convulsing as the liquid ran from his mouth; but it was the only way to see that he got some nourishment. She saw Eva’s lip tremble and slid a hand to the girl’s back, drawing her over to the sitting area, she knew that was not an easy thing to see; especially for a child. But when they were finished the maid slipped away, and Asiye sat at the bedside again.

“Why were you spying on that woman?” She asked quietly.

Eva gave her a long look before answering. “She is a spy, but she doesn’t spy for Varys.”

“And do you think this is something you should be interfering with?” There were spies all through the Red Keep, she knew there were likely as many masters as there were wealthy men in the city.

“Varys doesn’t know who she spies for, and he hasn’t been able to find out yet.” Eva glanced towards Jorah. “She’s watching you, Asiye and Sam; she’s trying to find about Jorah.”

“You don’t need to be watching her; or Varys!” She said, though she knew the warning fell on deaf ears, that news was concerning; but she was worried about Eva getting caught.

The girl did not nod or agree, but Daenerys fixed her with a glare and then tilted her head; letting the girl run away. She crossed to see her husband.

“There are spies in every household.” Asiye murmured as she stood beside her, Eva likely already trying to find her target again. “She will learn nothing from me, Gilly will warn Sam.”

“Thank you.” She said, taking her husband’s hand. While none of her soldiers had been able to contain Eva, she knew someone who might; the young woman could hold her own in a fight.

After the evening meal she sent Eva and Fiona with their maids, hoping both girls would get tucked into bed. Meera still sat at the table, listening raptly as Grey Worm finished telling her a story, thankfully he had saved the gory bit for after Fiona and little Sam were out of the room; the children did not need such things in their heads.

“Will you walk with me Meera? I need to relieve Rhainys' maid.” It was her habit to take her daughter for a few hours each evening, usually she would spend more time with her; but without Jorah there was a lot to do. It was time she saw her Papa anyway, their daughter might not understand why Jorah did not play with her, but she became upset if she did not see him during the day; even if all she could do was snuggle into his chest.

The girl nodded and rose from the table, crossing to where she had left her weapons, she had been training with Grey Worm before the meal. They passed quietly through the halls, after her encounter today Daenerys had to consider what she said and where; picking up her daughter and holding the little hand that tried to tangle in her hair. Rhainys had done that since she was a tiny babe, as she grew stronger the habit only became more painful.

She was distracted by Meera who made a face at Rhainys and nodded in agreement with her chatter. They both laughed as Meera caught the grabbing little fist easily; chatter turned to protest just as quickly.

In her chamber Daenerys shut the door and tucked Rhainys into Jorah’s side, with his frame between her and the edge of the bed so that their daughter could climb and snuggle onto him. Meera took one of the chairs at his bedside as she took a moment to speak with Asiye. The woman had nothing new to say, he was the same as he had been; he had not woken.

As the elderly woman slipped away Daenerys joined Meera, Rhainys was climbing the pillows Jorah was propped up on; a small hand touching his cheek. If he could hear them, she wondered what he would think of the task she had to ask of Meera; it did not sit well with her. And yet the young woman was a proven fighter, and reliable; plus she would never be far from men who would help her.

“Eva has been spying on one of the maids, she is spying more now that Jorah cannot contain her. And the Unsullied struggle, they do not want to be too harsh with her and feel that they should not follow her into some places; the lavatory or her chamber as she changes.” And Eva exploited those boundaries meant to respect her, escaping deftly and leaving skilled warriors scrambling to find her; shaming men who were skilled and diligent soldiers. “I hesitate to make such a request of you, but she does not know who she may cross in what she is doing; she sees a purpose to it and is hard to distract. Perhaps you could mind her? See that she attends her lessons, and plays with her sister rather than stalking people through the keep?”

“I can keep track of her, and I will protect her.” Meera’s tone was even, but her smile fleeting. She knew the girl trained hard, having every intention of serving as personal guard to the princess for many years to come; perhaps Eva would be good practice.

“Thank you.” That she agreed so easily made Daenerys feel a little better, Meera was young yet, but a young woman, not a child; some her age were married or already with child. Meera wanted a different life, she had already known horrible things and yet Daenerys fought an urge to protect her.

“But there are terrible rumors in the city and among the guards, spies in the keep are dangerous right now, as with the maesters kept from this room they feed upon half truths and speculation. Some say that the king may not recover; that trying to keep him alive is simply sustaining a corpse.” Meera’s eyes lingered on Jorah, her voice low; as though she did not want to discuss this in front of him.

“Who is saying these things?” Daenerys demanded, anger welling within her; those words were lies. And should not be spreading among her men, they were updated by Torvo and Grey Worm respectively; but there had been little to report for some time.

“In the city it is not said in malice, but in fear. Some believe if you lose King Jorah someone will strike against you, or that you may abandon us and return to Dragon’s Bay where all are loyal to you and the Princess, or worse if you were to be killed, that starvation and slaughter would follow as your Eastern cities would certainly abandon us; and the revenge your armies and dragons would take.” Meera informed her, eyes upon Jorah and the little girl that had given up climbing him; nestling into his shoulder instead with one hand fisted about the neck of his tunic. “Some of the red guard murmur of a rebellion in the West and a coup in the Stormlands; they murmur of who they will be made to serve next.”

For a long moment Daenerys was silent, chilled by the words Meera spoke, and angered that it was the young warrior telling her; not the Master of Whispers she employed. Baseless gossip or not, she did not like to be so unaware of her own kingdom, of the city she had liberated; full of people who were just beginning to reclaim their lives in a harsh winter.

“Even if a day comes when I must rule without him, none will overthrow me or drive me away. Westeros is my birthright, and I reclaimed it to rule it; to change it into a place my daughter will rule with pride. It is meant for her, and I hope strong warriors will come alongside her as Jorah has for me; and when her child prepares to rule there will be a good and honest person to be found.” Daenerys spoke slowly, she had battled her fears of losing Jorah; of what she would have to do if he slipped away in this sleep.

“But Jorah will recover, and those who wish him ill will live to regret it. He has overcome things that would have killed many, he has held on this long; he will not leave now. I have seen a man whose body lingered long after he was gone, awake and yet what made him a man dead already. This is different. Jorah has not woken, his body demands rest as he heals.”

“You don’t think it could be magic? His own or some part of yours? The dragon in your story had been taught to let people handle her eggs, Rhaegal had no other dragon to learn from; only an instinct of what she needed…” Meera said.

“Perhaps magic, but not that of death.” She interrupted the girl, while Meera knew much of magic and the powers at play in the world she did not want too much of it spoken aloud; she’d told that story as a bedtime tale for the children. “That is a matter we will have to address when she has another clutch, Rhaegal did not want to kill him, but she didn’t know how to get what she wanted and injured him badly. This is healing, healing from serious wounds; it takes time.”

Meera nodded and slipped away well before Missandei arrived, Daenerys took the time alone to crawl onto the bed with her family; there was so much racing through her mind. She longed to have Jorah to share it with, so much of this he simply dealt with, telling her of the news as report; he kept so many projects and issues balanced. Perhaps it came from his upbringing, raised from childhood to manage a holdfast, managing the realm was simply a greater scale; Meera’s caution of spies was a tipping point for her.

Jorah had never trusted Varys, watched him closely and kept him on a short leash, she felt like she was losing control of that leash. Varys had betrayed many before her, serving his own purposes, playing games of lies, and right now she wondered how different those were from her own. There were too many things he had not told her, too many things that seemed to be slipping through the cracks if his words were to be believed.

She could not allow the ground they had gained to be lost, Daenerys decided that, watching her daughter squirm closer to her Papa; she shifted his arm so that Rhainys would stay in place. Everyone in the palace, perhaps in the realm employed spies; perhaps it was time for her to have one. Though she would not be using the one who kept trying to track everyone.

No, she needed someone who could walk the halls unseen because they were meant to be there; one who did not already belong to another. She considered confronting the maid Eva was trying to figure out, perhaps for a price she would turn; and two birds could be killed with one stone so to speak. But that left her vulnerable to betrayal.

“What do you know of the maid who helps you each morning?” She asked Missandei, her friend carefully brushing out her hair; removing each braid slowly.

“Claire? Or Gayle?” Her friend asked. “Claire is taking my language classes, learning to read and write; she is a good person. She grew up in the streets of King’s Landing and was assigned a job in the palace during the census; she is very grateful to you, Your Grace.”

“Loyal then?” Daenerys asked, Claire was the woman she had been thinking of, perhaps twenty or so namedays; Gayle was the other.

The one Eva was trying to place, and even in how Missandei had said the name she knew her friend did not know much of the other maid; Gayle was quiet and reserved. However, the fact that both could be named to her chamber so easily made her cautious, if they worked closely together Claire would know something of what she did; and coming up in the streets she would be strong.

“Yes, Your Grace. Is something wrong?” She saw the lines of worry in her friend’s face and shook her head.

She had not asked the question to make Missandei worry, her friend had taken on extra tasks in effort to help her; hearing the supplications Daenerys used to attend each morning. That had gotten the usual complaints from those who believed a lowborn woman should not be given such power; but Daenerys did not care. Missandei was gentle and strong, she would be kind and generous to those in need, but firm with those who did not. In slavery she knew her friend had seen the evil in men, in her court Missandei wielded power over that sort of men; power Daenerys would gladly give her.

“I need eyes, eyes that Eva wants to be for me. And while I will not allow her to do it, I do need someone. Someone to keep watch for me, and tell me what is being said truthfully; whether I like it or not. I will work to ensure their safety, and I will pay them well. Do you believe Claire would do that?” She spoke frankly to her friend, she could not ask Missandei, or even a soldier; it was too well known that they were loyal to her. But someone from King’s Landing, even someone grateful, people would speak easier around one of their own.

It was not hard to set up the arrangement, asking Claire to help with her braids the following morning, the other maid had no choice but to continue her work. The woman tried to help at first, but her hands trembled so much that Missandei stilled her and they shifted to have a conversation; Claire would not sit with her even after Missandei did.

But the woman was agreeable, eagerly swore to report what she saw and heard, and Daenerys believed her to be honest; she did not even ask about payment. It was however something she needed to consider, the woman could not be linked to her, lest this become pointless. That meant she could not pay her in jewelry or gold coins of high value a merchant might notice a maid spending.

She would go to the market, it would serve two purposes, she would take small purses to give out to the poor; and slip a few into her skirts to pay Claire. It would also put her out among the people and hopefully ease some of their fears. It was Jorah who usually walked the streets, touring new builds and discussing future work with Ser Davos; but it had been nearly a fortnight since he had been able.

“You cannot single her out.” Missandei said quietly when they were alone again. “If you pay her special attention others will notice.”

“Yes, but I have put too much work on you for too long; especially now that you are seeing to other duties.” Still, her friend was right, she was in this now; she would have to play the game well.

They parted for the day as Asiye and Gilly arrived to tend Jorah. She had a meeting with Varys a little later on, though he did not know that yet, so she toured past the nursery to greet her daughter. Already up, the maid had set her on the large fur rug with a young dragon who watched intently as Rhainys played with some carved wooden toys.

“Mame!” She cried excitedly, so close to saying Mama, Daenerys was quite sure she knew more words than she used as they kept hearing them in her chatter.

Squirming onto her knees, little arms outstretched in hopes of being picked up, a request rarely refused; rather than attempting to stand herself. Daenerys scooped her up, soft curls freshly washed brushed her cheek as Rhainys burrowed into her shoulder. There was something so soothing in holding her daughter, especially with everything else going on right now. This little girl was a very big reason to keep going, to keep fighting.

Eventually she turned Rhainys back to her maid, it was time to go to the market; and prepare for Varys. Guards in tow, an extra complement as after she went to the treasury, she intended to go into the city to hear the gossip Varys would be questioned on. Everything about this situation took conscious effort, but it was not a game she was unaware of.

And as she considered her husband's habits, she realized it was one he played in his own way. The hours he spent in the city each week were not innocent, he walked construction sites, soup kitchens and streets with only a pair of Dothraki guards. His face was well known, and while not being able to slip unnoticed through the streets likely irked him, she knew he would listen to any who approached him; or any whispers about him.

The treasurer had jumped at her visit, presenting a small satchel of purses with small coins after only a few moments of scrambling; and Daenerys left the gates of the Red Keep. In truth she enjoyed her morning, one of the Unsullied guided her from one soup kitchen to the next, she passed out most of the purses, and spoke to many working and waiting for meals. 

She heard enough to verify the gossip Meera had passed on, and did what she could to reassure her people, but she sensed words were not enough; and only time would prove the truth to them. She lingered at the last soup kitchen, not looking forward to the next task of her day.

Returning to the Keep, she left all but two of her guards in the courtyard and headed for Varys quarters. The man sat at a large, rather ornate desk and rose as she entered, one of her guards had knocked but Varys’ guard had not had a moment to announce her; Daenerys motioned all of them out of the room.

“I spent the morning in the city, and many brought concerns to me; concerns you have not raised at counsel. I thought you served the realm before any ruler?” She ignored his gesture for her to take a chair in his sitting area.

“Your Grace, with the King’s injury, you’ve had so much on your mind. And you are aware of the unrest in the Westerlands, to trouble you with the smallfolk’s concerns when there are more pressing issues in your kingdoms.” Varys began, his explanation smooth as silk.

“And it is your judgement that I should not be concerned with the fears of the people in the very city I rule from? That it is your right to decide what I should concern myself with?” Daenerys countered.

The man dipped his head but said no more, he did not offer her any other gossip that he had been holding back; she held her ground for a long moment before leaving. The ball was put in motion and now she had to keep things moving, she wanted to know who Gayle served; Varys certainly couldn’t be trusted to tell her.

Later that evening as the maids came to tend the fire and turn down the bed she caught out the second maid; perhaps she could kill two birds with one stone after all. How would Gayle’s master feel if she drew the maid closer? Could she make anyone watching over this spy nervous? It might be possible to draw attention away from Claire as well.

“Gayle, I would have a bath tonight; please arrange the water and tub.” She had given Missandei the evening, seeing that Grey Worm was rostered off as well. Those two had been working many hours and tasks to help her without Jorah.

“Yes, Your Grace.” The woman curtsied and eagerly hurried from the room, Daenerys gave Claire a reassuring smile as the maid moved on.

The large tub was brought in with steaming buckets of water, the maid she did not trust eagerly directed the work and when the men left the door was closed; Daenerys unfastened the ties of her dress. The fabric pooled behind her as she padded towards the tub.

“Your Grace, I have not put out the screens...” The woman flushed, checking the corner by the fireplace for privacy screens she would not find; Daenerys never used them when she bathed before the fire.

“Who will see? My husband? The King rests to recover and should he wake, seeing me in the bath will not upset him.” She laughed, he’d seen her bathe many nights before and Daenerys stepped into the hot water, the woman carefully holding her hair up until she rested her neck against the edge of the tub.

The hot water was soothing and she savored the time to soak. She casually watched the maid hovering about her, unsure of what was expected. She did not ask the woman to take out her braids, that was a task that was not for someone who was not used to them; Missandei was a master of that.

“How long have you worked in the Red Keep?” Daenerys asked, shifting a little in the water.

“Nearly eight years Your Grace.” Gayle answered quickly, laying out a large sheet and robe.

“You’ve served many royals then.” She observed, considering the list of connections the woman may have; certainly, the various Lannisters. Though Varys had been here during some of that time, she must be a little newer to the game then; else he would know who she served.

“I only do my job Your Grace.” This time there was a slight edge to her voice, Daenerys did not comment on it; but she noticed.

She finished her bath and dismissed the woman, sitting in the window for a little while before bed. Suddenly the door opened, one of the guards gave her a shamed look as Neveah soared through the doorway and landed next to her. Squeaked once and edged closer until Daenerys lay a hand on her back; the purple dragon’s head resting on her knee.

She stroked her gently, if cautiously, as she dreamed whether Neveah came to her or not; but the young dragon liked to lead when they traveled in their magic. She had wondered if Neveah came to her because Rhainys was to young to understand her magic, or if her infant daughter had seen some of what she had, not yet able to explain it to anyone.


End file.
